“You overheard our discussion,” said Banneker bluntly.
Marrineal assented. “It did not seem private. Katie’s is a sort of free forum. That is why I come. I like to listen. Besides, it touched me pretty closely at one or two points.”
The two others turned toward him, waiting. He nodded, and took upon himself an air of well-pondered frankness. “I expect to take a more active part in journalism from now on.”
Edmonds followed up the significant phrase. “More active? You have newspaper interests?”
“Practically speaking, I own The Patriot. What do you gentlemen think of it?”
“Who reads The Patriot?” inquired Banneker. He was unprepared for the swift and surprised flash from Marrineal’s fine eyes, as if some profoundly analytical or revealing suggestion had been made.
“Forty thousand men, women, and children. Not half enough, of course.”
“Not a tenth enough, I would say, if I owned the paper. Nor are they the right kind of readers.”
“How would you define them, then?” asked Marrineal, still in that smooth voice.
“Small clerks. Race-track followers. People living in that class of tenements which call themselves flats. The more intelligent servants. Totally unimportant people.”