“Often. He’s my main and only reliance, politically.”
“Only politically? Does he ever comment on other editorials? The one on Harvey Wheelwright, for instance?”
Banneker was faintly surprised. “No. Why should he? Did you discuss that with him?”
“Indeed not! I wouldn’t discuss that particular editorial with any one but you.”
He moved uneasily. “Aren’t you attaching undue importance to a very trivial subject? You know that was half a joke, anyway.”
“Was it?” she murmured. “Probably I take it too seriously. But—but Harvey Wheelwright came into one of our early talks, almost our first about real things. When I began to discover you; when ‘The Voices’ first sang to us. And he wasn’t one of the Voices, exactly, was he?”
“He? He’s a bray! But neither was Sears-Roebuck one of the Voices. Yet you liked my editorial on that.”
“I adored it! You believed what you were writing. So you made it beautiful.”
“Nothing could make Harvey Wheelwright beautiful. But, at least, you’ll admit I made him—well, appetizing.” His face took on a shade. “Love’s labor lost, too,” he added. “We never did run the Wheelwright serial, you know.”
“Why?”