“Catch him!” grunted the other, reverting to his task. “More likely going to raise your salary.”
As between the two surmises, Edmonds’s was the nearer the truth. Urbane as always, the proprietor of The Patriot waved his editor to a seat, remarking, “I hope you’ll sit down this time,” the slightly ironical tinge to the final words being, in the course of the interview, his only reference to their previous encounter. Wondering dully whether Marrineal could have any idea of the murderous hatred which he inspired, Banneker took the nearest chair and waited. After some discussion as to the policy of the paper in respect to the strike, which was on the point of settlement by compromise, Marrineal set his delicate fingers point to point and said:
“I want to talk to you about the future.”
“I’m listening,” returned Banneker uncompromisingly.
“Your ultimate ambition is to own and control a newspaper of your own, isn’t it?”
“Why do you think that?”
Marrineal’s slow, sparse smile hardly moved his lips. “It’s in character that you should. What else is there for you?”
“Well?”
“Have you ever thought of The Patriot?”
Involuntarily Banneker straightened in his chair. “Is The Patriot in the market?”