"Perhaps. If I ever get enough money to own it absolutely."

"Only four years ago," she murmured, with apparent irrelevancy. "And now--"

"When shall I see you again?" he asked anxiously as she rose. "Are you coming Saturday night?"

"Of course," said Io.

Through the agency of Russell Edmonds, McClintick, the labor leader, came to see Banneker. He was a stooping giant with a deep, melancholy voice, and his attitude toward The Patriot was one of distrustful reticence. Genuine ardor has, however, a warming influence. McClintick's silence melted by degrees, not into confidence but, surprisingly, into indignation, directed upon all the "capitalistic press" in general, but in particular against The Patriot. Why single out The Patriot, specially, Banneker asked.

"Hypocrite," muttered the giant.

At length the reason came out, under pressure: The Patriot had been (in the words of the labor man) making a big row over the arrest of certain labor organizers, in one of the recurrent outbreaks against the Steel Trust, opposed by that organization's systematic and tyrannous method of oppression. So far, so good. But why hadn't the paper said a word about the murder of strikers' wives and children out at the Veridian Lumber Company's mills in Oregon; an outrage far surpassing anything ever laid to the account of the Steel Trust? Simple reason, answered Banneker; there had been no news of it over the wires. No; of course there hadn't.

The Amalgamated Wire Association (another tool of capitalism) had suppressed it; wouldn't let any strike stuff get on the wires that it could keep off. Then how, asked Banneker, could it be expected--?

McClintick interrupted in his voice of controlled passion; had Mr.

Banneker ever heard of the Chicago Transcript (naming the leading morning paper); had he ever read it? Well, The Transcript--which, he, McClintick, hated strongly as an organ of money--nevertheless did honestly gather and publish news, as he was constrained huskily to admit. It had the Veridian story; was still running it from time to time. Therefore, if Mr. Banneker was interested, on behalf of The Patriot--

Certainly, The Patriot was interested; would obtain and publish the story in full, if it was as Mr. McClintick represented, with due editorial comment.

"Will it?" grumbled McClintick, gave his hat a look of mingled hope and skepticism, put it on, and went away.

"Now, what's wrong with that chap's mental digestion?" Banneker inquired of Edmonds, who had sat quiet throughout the interview. "What is he holding back?"

"Plenty," returned the veteran in a tone which might have served for echo of the labor man's gloom.

"Do you know the Veridian story?"

"Yes. I've just checked it up."

"What's the milk in that cocoanut?"

"Sour!" said Edmonds with such energy that Banneker turned to look at him direct. "The principal owner of Veridian is named Marrineal....

Where you going, Ban?"

"To see the principal owner of the name," said Banneker grimly.

The quest took him to the big house on upper Fifth Avenue. Marrineal heard his editorial writer with impassive face.

"So the story has got here," he remarked.

"Yes. Do you own Veridian?"

"No."

Hope rose within Banneker. "You don't?"

"My mother does. She's in Europe. A rather innocent old person. The innocence of age, perhaps. Quite old." All of this in a perfectly tranquil voice.

"Have you seen The Chicago Transcript? It's an ugly story."

"Very. I've sent a man out to the camp. There won't be any more shootings."

"It comes rather late. I've told McClintick, the labor man who comes from Wyoming, that we'll carry the story, if we verify it."

Marrineal raised his eyes slowly to Banneker's stern face. "Have you?"

he said coolly. "Now, as to the mayoralty campaign; what do you think of running a page feature of Laird's reforms, as President of the Board, tracing each one down to its effect and showing what any backward step would mean? By the way, Laird is going to be pretty heavily obligated to The Patriot if he's elected."

For half an hour they talked politics, nothing else.

At the office Edmonds was making a dossier of the Veridian reports. It was ready when Banneker returned.

"Let it wait," said Banneker.

Prudence ordained that he should throw the troublous stuff into the waste-basket. He wondered if he was becoming prudent, as another man might wonder whether he was becoming old. At any rate, he would make no decision until he had talked it over with Io. Not only did he feel instinctive confidence in her sense of fair play; but also this relationship of interest in his affairs, established by her, was the opportunity of his closest approach; an intimacy of spirit assured and subtle. He hoped that she would come early on Saturday evening.

But she did not. Some dinner party had claimed her, and it was after eleven when she arrived with Archie Densmore. At once Banneker took her aside and laid before her the whole matter.

"Poor Ban!" she said softly. "It isn't so simple, having power to play with, is it?"

"But how am I to handle this?"

"The mills belong to Mr. Marrineal's mother, you said?"

"Practically they do."

"And she is--?"

"A silly and vain old fool."

"Is that his opinion of her?"

"Necessarily. But he's fond of her."

"Will he really try to remedy conditions, do you think?"

"Oh, yes. So far as that goes."

"Then I'd drop it."

"Print nothing at all?"

"Not a word."

"That isn't what I expected from you. Why do you advise it?"

"Loyalty."

"The paralytic virtue," said Banneker with such bitterness of conviction that Io answered:

"I suppose you don't mean that to be simply clever."