"As for that, he is very strong. It might be slow. One prays not."

"At any rate, that little reptile, Ives, shan't have his profit of it."

Banneker rose and, disdaining even the diplomacy of an excuse, drew Ely Ives aside.

"That bet of yours was a joke, Ives," he prescribed.

Ives studied him in silence, wishing that he had watched, through the dinner, how much drink he took.

"A joke?" he asked coolly. "I don't understand you."

"Try," advised Banneker with earnestness. "I happen to have read that luetic diagnosis, myself. A joke, Ives, so far as the two hundred goes."

"What do you expect me to do?" asked the other.

"Tear up the check, when it comes. Make what explanation your ingenuity can devise. That's your affair. But don't cash that check, Ives. For if you do--I dislike to threaten--"

"You don't need to threaten me, Mr. Banneker," interrupted Ives eagerly.

"If you think it wasn't a fair bet, your word is enough for me. That goes. It's off. I think just that of you. I'm a friend of yours, as I hope to prove to you some day. I don't lay this up against you; not for a minute."

Not trusting himself to make answer to this proffer, Banneker turned away to find his host and make his adieus. As he left, he saw Delavan Eyre, flushed but composed, sipping a liqueur and listening with courteous appearance of appreciation to a vapid and slobbering story of one of the racing magnates. A debauchee, a cumberer of the earth, useless, selfish, scandalous of life--and Banneker, looking at him with pitiful eyes, paid his unstinted tribute to the calm and high courage of the man.

Walking slowly home in the cool air, Banneker gave thanks for a drink-proof head. He had need of it; he wanted to think and think clearly. How did this shocking revelation about Eyre affect his own hopes of Io? That she would stand by her husband through his ordeal Banneker never doubted for an instant. Her pride of fair play would compel her to that. It came to his mind that this was her other and secret reason for not divorcing Eyre; for maintaining still the outward form of a marriage which had ceased to exist long before. For a lesser woman, he realized with a thrill, it would have been a reason for divorcing him.... Well, here was a barrier, indeed, against which he was helpless. Opposed by a loyalty such as Io's he could only be silent and wait.

In the next few weeks she was very good to him. Not only did she lunch with him several times, but she came to the Saturday nights of The House With Three Eyes, sometimes with Archie Densmore alone, more often with a group of her own set, after a dinner or a theater party. Always she made opportunity for a little talk apart with her host; talks which any one might have heard, for they were concerned almost exclusively with the affairs of The Patriot, especially in its relation to the mayoralty campaign now coming to a close. Yet, impersonal though the discussions might be, Banneker took from them a sense of ever-increasing intimacy and communion, if it were only from a sudden, betraying quiver in her voice, an involuntary, unconscious look from the shadowed eyes. Whatever of resentment he had cherished for her earlier desertion was now dissipated; he was wholly hers, content, despite all his passionate longing for her, with what she chose to give. In her own time she would be generous, as she was brave and honorable....

She was warmly interested in the election of Robert Laird to the mayoralty, partly because she knew him personally, partly because the younger element of society had rather "gone in for politics" that year, on the reform side. Banneker had to admit to her, as the day drew close, that the issue was doubtful. Though The Patriot's fervid support had been a great asset to the cause, it was now, for the moment, a liability to the extent that it was being fiercely denounced in the Socialist organ, The Summons, as treasonable to the interests of the working-classes. The Summons charged hypocrisy, citing the case of the Veridian strike.

"That is McClintick?" asked Io.

"He's back of it, naturally. But The Summons has been waiting its chance. Jealous of our influence in the field it's trying to cultivate."

"McClintick is right," remarked Io thoughtfully.

Banneker laughed. "Oh, Io! It's such a relief to get a clear view and an honest one from some one else. There's no one in the office except Russell Edmonds, and he's away now.... You think McClintick is right? So do I."

"But so are you. You had to do as you did about the story. If any one is to blame, it is Mr. Marrineal. Yet how can one blame him? He had to protect his mother. It's a fearfully complicated phenomenon, a newspaper, isn't it, Ban?"

"Io, the soul of man is simple and clear compared with the soul of a newspaper."

"If it has a soul."

"Of course it has. It's got to have. Otherwise what is it but a machine?"

"Which is The Patriot's; yours or Mr. Marrineal's? I can't," said Io quaintly, "quite see them coalescing."

"I wonder if Marrineal has a soul," mused Banneker.

"If he hasn't one of his own, let him keep his hands off yours!" said Io in a flash of feminine jealousy. "He's done enough already with his wretched mills. What shall you do about the attack in The Summons?"

"Ignore it. It would be difficult to answer. Besides, people easily forget."

"A dangerous creed, Ban. And a cynical one. I don't want you to be cynical."

"I never shall be again, unless--"

"Unless?" she prompted.

"It rests with you, Io," he said quietly.

At once she took flight. "Am I to be keeper of your spirit?" she protested. "It's bad enough to be your professional adviser. Why don't you invite a crowd of us down to get the election returns?" she suggested.

"Make up your party," assented Banneker. "Keep it small; say a dozen, and we can use my office."

On the fateful evening there duly appeared Io with a group of a dozen friends. From the first, it was a time of triumph. Laird took the lead and kept it. By midnight, the result was a certainty. In a balcony speech from his headquarters the victor had given generous recognition for his success to The Patriot, mentioning Banneker by name. When the report reached them Esther Forbes solemnly crowned the host with a wreath composed of the "flimsy" on which the rescript of the speech had come in.

"Skoal to Ban!" she cried. "Maker of kings and mayors and things. Skoal!

As you're a viking or something of the sort, the Norse salutation is appropriate."

"It ought to be Danish to be accurate," he smiled.

"Well, that's a hardy, seafaring race," she chattered. "And that reminds me. Come on out to the South Seas with us."

"Charmed," he returned. "When do we start? To-morrow?"

"Oh, I'm not joking. You've certainly earned a vacation. And of course you needn't enlist for the whole six months if that is too long. Dad has let me have the yacht. There'll only be a dozen. Io's going along."

Banneker shot one startled, incredulous look at Io Eyre, and instantly commanded himself, to the point of controlling his voice to gayety as he replied:

"And who would tell the new mayor how he should run the city, if I deserted him? No, Esther, I'm afraid I'm chained to this desk. Ask me sometime when you're cruising as far as Coney Island."

Io sat silent, and with a set smile, listening to Herbert Cressey's account of an election row in the district where he was volunteer watcher. When the party broke up, she went home with Densmore without giving Banneker the chance of a word with her. It seemed to him that there was a mute plea for pardon in her face as she bade him good-night.

At noon next day she called him on the 'phone.

"Just to tell you that I'm coming as usual Saturday evening," she said.

"When do you leave on your cruise?" he asked.

"Not until next week. I'll tell you when I see you. Good-bye."

Never had Banneker seen Io in such difficult mood as she exhibited on the Saturday. She had come early to The House With Three Eyes, accompanied by Densmore who looked in just for one drink before going to a much-touted boxing-match in Jersey. Through the evening she deliberately avoided seeing Banneker alone for so much as the space of a query put and answered, dividing her attention between an enraptured master of the violin who had come after his concert, and an aged and bewildered inventor who, in a long career of secluded toil, had never beheld anything like this brilliant creature with her intelligent and quickening interest in what he had to tell her. Rivalry between the two geniuses inspired the musician to make an offer which he would hardly have granted to royalty itself.

"After a time, when zese chatterers are gon-away, I shall play for you.

Is zere some one here who can accompany properly?"

Necessarily Io sent for Banneker to find out. Yes; young Mackey was coming a little later; he was a brilliant amateur and would be flattered at the opportunity. With a direct insistence difficult to deny, Banneker drew Io aside for a moment. Her eyes glinted dangerously as she faced him, alone for the moment, with the question that was the salute before the crossing of blades.

"Well?"