“They would have withdrawn? Are they as sore as that?”
“One of these days you’ll realize the truth of what I told you about committing hara-kiri, Jem. There’s only one safe way with the Germans. Let them alone and they’ll let you alone.”
“Oh! Will they! That shows how one-sidedly you look at it. They’ve begun flooding the office already with their press-work for the winter Singing Society festival.”
“Perfectly harmless. You certainly can’t see anything objectionable in that.”
“No; I can’t,” admitted Jeremy.
“Run a lot of it, then. It costs nothing, and it will help square you for the school bill break.”
Which Jeremy found good advice and resolved to follow. He said as much and was approved as one coming to his senses after regrettable errancy.
“How much pull do you think the Deutscher Club crowd have with the Drovers’ Bank?” asked Jeremy.
“Not so much. If you do have difficulty there, let me know. I could probably fix you up in some of the out-of-town banks.”
The Drovers’ Bank made no difficulty. Mr. Warrington was most amenable when Jeremy returned. This helped to reassure the borrower that no financial plot threatened his newspaper. He would have felt less happy had he known that the interval between his visits had been utilized by Mr. Warrington to pay a call of consultation upon a certain florid and self-important gentleman, no lover of The Guardian or its editor since he had suffered indignities of print as “President Puff” from Jeremy’s satiric and not always well-advised pen.