“I’m prepared to make you a guarantee of forty thousand, as a minimum.”
“I shall make nearer sixty than fifty this year.”
“At the expense of a possible loss to the paper. Come, Mr. Banneker; the fairness of my offer is evident. A generous guarantee, and a brilliant chance of future profits.”
“And a free hand with my editorials?”
“Surely that will arrange itself.”
“Precisely what I fear.” Banneker had been making some swift calculations on his desk-blotter. Now he took up a blue pencil and with a gesture, significant and not without dramatic effect, struck it down through the reckoning. “No, Mr. Marrineal. It isn’t good enough. I hold to the old status. When our contract is out—”
“Just a moment, Mr. Banneker. Isn’t there a French proverb, something about no man being as indispensable as he thinks?” Marrineal’s voice was never more suave and friendly. “Before you make any final decision, look these over.” He produced from his pocket half a dozen of what appeared to be Patriot editorial clippings.
The editor of The Patriot glanced rapidly through them. A puzzled frown appeared on his face.
“When did I write these?”
“You didn’t.”