“Oh! Yes. Of course. Or any one else.”
“Or any one else,” agreed Banneker, catching a quick, informed glance from Edmonds.
“Frankly, your scheme seems a little fantastic to me,” pronounced the owner of The Patriot. “But that may be only because it’s new. It might be worth trying out.” He reverted again to his expressionless reverie, out of which exhaled the observation: “I wonder what the present editorial staff could do with that.”
“Am I to infer that you intend to help yourself to my idea?” inquired Banneker.
Mr. Marrineal aroused himself hastily from his editorial dream. Though by no means a fearful person, he was uncomfortably sensible of a menace, imminent and formidable. It was not in Banneker’s placid face, nor in the unaltered tone wherein the pertinent query was couched. Nevertheless, the object of that query became aware that young Banneker was not a person to be trifled with. He now went on, equably to say:
“Because, if you do, it might be as well to give me the chance of developing it.”
Possibly the “Of course,” with which Marrineal responded to this reasonable suggestion, was just a little bit over-prompt.
“Give me ten days. No: two weeks, and I’ll be ready to show my wares. Where can I find you?”
Marrineal gave a telephone address. “It isn’t in the book,” he said. “It will always get me between 9 A.M. and noon.”
They talked of matters journalistic, Marrineal lapsing tactfully into the role of attentive listener again, until there appeared in the lower room a dark-faced man of thirty-odd, spruce and alert, who, upon sighting them, came confidently forward. Marrineal ordered him a drink and presented him to the two journalists as Mr. Ely Ives. As Mr. Ives, it appeared, was in the secret of Marrineal’s journalistic connection, the talk was resumed, becoming more general. Presently Marrineal consulted his watch.