He leaned back in his chair, and put his thumbs in his armholes. “Well,” he remarked, “they made their killing.”
“They did, indeed,” said Montague.
“And they're not satisfied yet,” exclaimed the other. “They're on another trail!”
“What!” cried Montague.
“Listen,” said Bates. “I went in to see David Ward about the action of the Clearinghouse Committee; Gary—he's the Despatch man—was with me. Ward talked for half an hour, as he always does; he told us all about the gallant efforts which the bankers were making to stem the tide, and he told us that the Trust Company of the Republic was in danger and that an agreement had been made to try to save it. Mind you, there's not been the least sign of trouble for the company.' 'Shall we print that?' asked Gary. 'Surely,' said Ward. 'But it will make trouble,' said Gary. 'That's all right,' said Ward. 'It's a fact. So print it.' Now what do you think of that?”
Montague sat rigid. “But I thought they had promised to protect Prentice!” he exclaimed.
“Yes,” said Bates, grimly; “and now they throw him down.”
“Do you suppose Waterman knew that?”
“Why, of course; Ward is no more than one of his clerks.”
“And will the Despatch print it, do you suppose?”