“Did you think that perhaps I was aiming in that direction, with my comments on you?”
The magnate changed color a little. “I might have suspected something of the sort.”
“You were wrong.”
“Very well. I was wrong. Anything else?”
“Yes. If I’ll undertake that The Guardian shall say nothing more along the line which you find objectionable without specific and definite charges taken from the records, will you acquit me—that is, will you consider that you’ve scared me sufficiently?”
Magnus Laurens blinked. “I’m not a fool,” he said presently. “Scared you? You’re no more afraid of me than I am of you.”
“Then you’ve done better than scare me. You’ve convinced me that you mean what you say. You and I can fight fair.”
“I’ll shake hands now,” said Laurens, and did. “You’re all wrong. You’ve been misled by that quack, Embree. But I suppose a man can be wrong and still be straight.”
“Exactly what I’m supposing about you,” retorted Jeremy. “Now, sit down, Mr. Laurens, and tell me some real political news.”
Laurens drew a chair up opposite the editor. “Do you think you’d print it?”