Even under the new policy, however, The Patriot would hardly have proven, upon careful analysis, more decent or self-respecting. But it was less obvious; cleverer in avoiding the openly offensive. Capron had been curbed in his pictorial orgies. The copy-readers had been supplied with a list of words and terms tabooed from the captions. But the influence of Severance was still potent in the make-up of the news. While Banneker was relieved at the change, he suspected its impermanency should it prove unsuccessful. To neither his chief editorial writer nor Russell Edmonds had the proprietor so much as hinted at the modification of scheme. His silence to these two was part of his developing policy of separating more widely the different departments of the paper in order that he might be the more quietly and directly authoritative over all.
The three men were lunching late at Delmonico’s, and talking politics, when Edmonds leaned forward in his seat to look toward the entrance.
“There’s Severance,” said he. “What’s the matter with him?”
The professional infuser of excitements approached walking carefully among the tables. His eyes burned in a white face.
“On one of his sprees,” diagnosed Banneker. “Oh, Severance! Sit down here.”
“I beg your p-p-pardon.” Severance spoke with marked deliberation and delicacy, but with a faint stammer. “These not b-being office hours, I have not the p-pleasure of your acquaintance.”
Marrineal smiled.
“The p-pale rictus of the damned,” observed Severance. “As one damned soul to another, I c-confess a longing for companionship of m-my own sort. Therefore I accept your invitation. Waiter, a Scotch h-highball.”
“We were talking of—” began Banneker, when the newcomer broke in:
“Talk of m-me. Of me and m-my work. I exult in my w-work. L-like Mr. Whitman, I celebrate myself. I p-point with pride. What think you, gentlemen, of to-day’s paper in honor of which I have t-taken my few drinks?”