“Coming back to lick the editor?” asked Jeremy, contemplating the muscle-packed figure of the other with a smile. “If so, I’ll lay in a length of lead pipe.”
“Lay in a lawyer and a good one,” advised the visitor grimly. “For I’ll be after you for criminal libel. No fiddling little damage suits for me. That’s what I came to tell you.”
“All right. I’ve got it. Anything else?”
“No.”
“Then it’s my turn. You control the Oak Lodge Pulp Company.”
“I have an interest in it.”
“The Guardian buys its print paper from you.”
“Yes.”
“When you came here did you have in mind any—well, exchange of courtesies, editorial for business consideration, in respect to future deals?”
“I did not. I don’t do business that way,” retorted Magnus Laurens with emphasis.