“Ah! What do you think? You’re closer to him than any one else.”
Jeremy shook his head. “Not on the war. I don’t even know what he’s thinking, most of the time. Your paper has more influence with him than The Guardian. If I could think of Martin Embree as being afraid of anybody, I’d say he was a little afraid of The Journal.”
“Of course, he doesn’t want to lose us,” answered Kimball reflectively. “He can’t afford to lose us. But there isn’t much danger of that.” He rose. “I’ll send you a word before the bill is ready. They intend to spring it suddenly.”
Jeremy thanked him, and after he had left, sat down to think out the Governor’s situation. He could appreciate its perplexities. He could foresee that Embree would blame him for stirring up dissension unnecessarily, when he might have held his peace. Therefore he was prepared for a difficult interview when, on the Governor’s return, he was invited to lunch with him. But “Smiling Mart’s” smile was as open and friendly as ever.
“You dipped your pen in earthquake and eclipse that time, my boy,” he observed.
“I had to speak out or blow up, Martin.”
“Therefore you did both. Up in the Northern Tier you’re not precisely popular.”
“No. The circulation reports show that. We’re getting two or three dozen stop-the-paper orders from there per day.”
“I’ve done my best for you, there. But I can’t hold the more rabid elements. There’s one saving grace, though.”
“That’s—?”