'But it ain't the money. You've assailed my character. That's what you've done. Will you retract in print?'
'No, I won't. But if you'll come down to a decent price and promise to call off the boycott——'
'What boycott?'
'Advertising. You know. You do that, and I'll agree to leave you alone. Somebody else'll have to find you out, that's all. I've gotta help Hump Weaver pull the Gleaner out. I guess that's my job now.'
He said this last sadly. He had read stories of wonderful young St Georges who slew a dozen political dragons at a time. Who never compromised or gave hostages to fortune. But there was only one chance for the paper and for old Hump. That chance was here and now.
He was sorry he couldn't see Charlie Waterhouse's face. 'What'll you give?' asked that worthy, after thoughtfully chewing, his cigar.
'A thousand.'
'Lord, no. Four thousand.'
'That's impossible.'
'Three, then.'