“We’re just having coffee,” said Banneker. “Will you join us?”
“Thank you; I must go back to my party. I came over to express my personal obligation to you for cleaning out that gang of wharf-rats. My boat anchors off there. I hope to see you aboard her sometime.”
“You owe me no thanks,” returned Banneker good-humoredly. “What I did was to save my own precious skin.”
“The effect was the same. After this the rats will suspect every man of being a Banneker in disguise, and we shall have no more trouble.”
“You see!” remarked Cressey triumphantly as Masters went away. “I told you you’d arrived.”
“Do you count a word of ordinary courtesy as so much?” inquired Banneker, surprised and amused.
“From Junior? I certainly do. No Masters ever does anything without having figured out its exact meaning in advance.”
“And what does this mean?” asked the other, still unimpressed.
“For one thing, that the Masters influence will be back of you, if the police try to put anything over. For another, that you’ve got the broadest door to society open to you, if Junior follows up his hint about the yacht.”
“I haven’t the time,” returned Banneker with honest indifference. He sipped his coffee thoughtfully. “Cressey,” he said, “if I had a newspaper of my own in New York, do you know what I’d do with it?”