“One, only, but a big one. The Patriot itself. You see, Io, The Patriot is another matter.”
“Why is it another matter?”
“Well, there’s Marrineal, for example.”
“I don’t know Mr. Marrineal. Evidently you don’t trust him.”
“I trust nobody,” disclosed the lawyer, a little sternly, “who is represented by what The Patriot is and does, whether it be Marrineal, Banneker, or another.” His glance, wandering about the room, fell on Russell Edmonds, seated in a corner talking with the Great Gaines. “Unless it be Edmonds over there,” he qualified. “All his life he has fought me as a corporation lawyer; yet I have the queer feeling that I could trust the inmost secret of my life to his honor. Probably I’m an old fool, eh?”
Io devoted a moment’s study to the lined and worn face of the veteran. “No. I think you’re right,” she pronounced.
“In any case, he isn’t responsible for The Patriot. He can’t help it.”
“Don’t be so cryptic, Cousin Billy. Can’t help what? What is wrong with the paper?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“But I want to understand,” said imperious Io.