“And you think I could be of use in your plan? But you don’t know much about me.”
Marrineal murmured smilingly something indefinite but complimentary as to Banneker’s reputation on Park Row; but this was by no means a fair index to what he knew about Banneker.
Indeed, that prematurely successful reporter would have been surprised at the extent to which Marrineal’s private investigations had gone. Not only was the purchaser of The Patriot apprised of Banneker’s professional career in detail, but he knew of his former employment, and also of his membership in The Retreat, which he regarded with perplexity and admiration. Marrineal was skilled at ascertainments. He made a specialty of knowing all about people.
“With Mr. Edmonds on roving commission and you to handle the big local stuff,” he pursued, “we should have the nucleus of a news organization. Like him, you would be responsible to me alone. And, of course, it would be made worth your while. What do you think? Will you join us?”
“No.”
“No?” There was no slightest hint of disappointment, surprise, or resentment in Marrineal’s manner. “Do you mind giving me the reason?”
“I don’t care to be a reporter on The Patriot.”
“Well, this would hardly be reporting. At least, a very specialized and important type.”
“For that matter, I don’t care to be a reporter on any paper much longer. Besides, you need me—or some one—in another department more than in the news section.”
“You don’t like the editorials,” was the inference which Marrineal drew from this, and correctly.