“I thought of that,” admitted the other. “But I don’t know as I could get the swing of your style. You certainly got a style, Mr. Banneker.”
“Thank you.”
“Well, what do you say?”
“Why, this. I’ll look over next Sunday’s advertising, particularly the large ads., and if there is a good subject in any of the shows, I’ll try to do something about it.”
“Fine!” enthused the unsuspecting pioneer of business-dramatic criticism. “It’s a pleasure to work with a gentleman like you, Mr. Banneker.”
Withdrawing, even more pleased with himself than was his wont, Mr. Zucker confided to Haring that the latter was totally mistaken in attributing a stand-offish attitude to Banneker. Why, you couldn’t ask for a more reasonable man. Saw the point at once.
“Don’t you go making any fool promises on the strength of what Banneker said to you,” commented Haring.
With malign relish, Banneker looked up in the Sunday advertising the leading theater display, went to the musical comedy there exploited, and presently devoted a column to giving it a terrific and only half-merited slashing for vapid and gratuitous indecency. The play, which had been going none too well, straightway sold out a fortnight in advance, thereby attesting the power of the press as well as the appeal of pruriency to an eager and jaded public. Zucker left a note on the editorial desk warmly thanking his confrère for this evidence of coöperation.
Life was practicing its lesser ironies upon Banneker whilst maturing its greater ones.