“Threats of reduced space. If only they dared, Andy, what would n’t they do to us! But they need us in their business.”
Confirmation in part of Verrall’s dismal forebodings came from Arthur Betts, of Kelter & Betts, who dropped in to see Jeremy. Since the first struggle with the Retailers’ Association, Betts had proved himself a “good sport,” as he would have wished to have it put, in admitting The Guardian’s right to editorial independence, which did not in any measure inhibit him from trying to “put one over” on the paper whenever he thought that he saw a chance. That was part of the game. Though usually worsted, he sometimes succeeded in landing a bit of free advertising. But, like a sound opponent, he had become a strong partisan of Jeremy as against the field.
“You sure put it to the German lot in that editorial,” he observed with a shining eye.
“They had it coming to them,” returned Jeremy.
“Right! But they’re sore clean through. Any cancellations?”
“Blasius.”
“Yep. He’s a dachshund all right. Do you know what they’re stirring up in the Retailers’ Association?”
“No.”
“This is rank treason and betrayal of secrets and so on; but they’re talking down your circulation. Are you losing much?”
“Some.”