Ahrens became suddenly timorous. “Wh-wh-why?” he stammered.
“Because I don’t take punishment lying down. Not from you, Ahrens. You’re going to find out whether you can do business without The Guardian, losing proposition or not!”
He left the worried store-keeper and continued his rounds. Nearly everywhere he found the same prospect; appropriations cut from a third to a half, but mostly a third. Something definite was back of it. Of that he felt sure. But what it was he could not discover.
Enlightenment was waiting for him at his office, through the medium of Galpin. That usually self-contained person looked haggard. “Verrall has been here since you left, Boss.”
“What did he want? His job back?”
“No. He’s got another.”
“Good riddance. What is it?”
“Boss, the cat’s out of the bag. I don’t know how they ever kept her in so long. Her name is The Fair Dealer; morning paper with Amalgamated Wire Franchise; scheduled to start next month. And she ain’t a cat. She’s a skunk.”
“Who’s back of it?”
“Can’t you tell from the sniveling, canting, hypocritical name? ‘Smiling Mart’ Embree—damn his soul.”