“He can get more. Any time when he chooses to handle The Patriot so that it attracts instead of offends the big advertisers.”
“Why don’t you put the screws on him now, Mr. Marrineal?” smirked Ives with thin-lipped malignancy.
Marrineal frowned. His cold blood inclined him to be deliberate; the ophidian habit, slow-moving until ready to strike. He saw no reason for risking a venture which became safer the further it progressed. Furthermore, he disliked direct, unsolicited advice. Ignoring Ives’s remark he asked:
“How are his investments going?”
Ives grinned again. “Down. Who put him into United Thread? Do you know, sir?”
“Horace Vanney. He has been tipping it off quietly to the club lot. Wants to get out from under, himself.”
“There’s one thing about it, though, that puzzles me. If he took old Vanney’s tip to buy for a rise, why did he go after the Sippiac Mills with those savage editorials? They’re mainly responsible for the legislative investigation that knocked eight points off of United Thread.”
“Probably to prove his editorial independence.”
“To whom? You?”
“To himself,” said Marrineal with an acumen quite above the shrewdness of an Ives to grasp.