“Why, I suppose I could, in an extreme emergency. But, dearest, it’s all right. Why be so difficult?”
“It isn’t playing the game, Ban.”
“Indeed, it is. It’s playing the game as Laird has elected to play it. Did he make inquiries before he attacked us on the Veridian strike?”
“That’s true,” she conceded.
“And my evidence for this is direct. You’ll have to trust me and my professional judgment, Io.”
She sighed, but accepted this, saying, “If he is that kind of a snob it ought to be published. Suppose he sues for libel?”
“He’d be laughed out of court. Why, what is there libelous in saying that a man claims to have been called by his first name by another man?” Banneker chuckled.
“Well, it ought to be libelous if it isn’t true,” asserted Io warmly. “It isn’t fair or decent that a newspaper can hold a man up as a boot-licker and toady, if he isn’t one, and yet not be held responsible for it.”
“Well, dearest, I didn’t make the libel laws. They’re hard enough as it is.” His thought turned momentarily to Ely Ives, the journalistic sandbag, and he felt a momentary qualm. “I don’t pretend to like everything about my job. One of these days I’ll have a newspaper of my own, and you shall censor every word that goes in it.”
“Help! Help!” she laughed. “I shouldn’t have the time for anything else; not even for being in love with the proprietor. Ban,” she added wistfully, “does it cost a very great deal to start a new paper?”