“If you think my ideas are worth my price,” he replied.

“Let’s have the ideas.”

“No trouble to show goods,” Banneker said, unclasping the suitcase.  He preferred to keep the talk in light tone until his time came.  From the case he extracted two close-packed piles of news-print, folded in half.

“Coals to Newcastle,” smiled Marrineal.  “These seem to be copies of The Patriot.”

“Not exact copies.  Try this one.”  Selecting an issue at random he passed it to the other.

Marrineal went into it carefully, turning from the front page to the inside, and again farther in the interior, without comment.  Nor did he speak at once when he came to the editorial page.  But he glanced up at Banneker before settling down to read.

“Very interesting,” he said presently, in a non-committal manner.  “Have you more?”

Silently Banneker transferred to the table-top the remainder of the suitcase’s contents.  Choosing half a dozen at random, Marrineal turned each inside out and studied the editorial columns.  His expression did not in any degree alter.

“You have had these editorials set up in type to suit yourself, I take it,” he observed after twenty minutes of perusal; “and have pasted them into the paper.”

“Exactly.”

“Why the double-column measure?”

“More attractive to the eye.  It stands out.”

“And the heavy type for the same reason?”

“Yes.  I want to make ’em just as easy to read as possible.”

“They’re easy to read,” admitted the other.  “Are they all yours?”

“Mine—­and others’.”

Marrineal looked a bland question.  Banneker answered it.

“I’ve been up and down in the highways and the low-ways, Mr. Marrineal, taking those editorials from the speech of the ordinary folk who talk about their troubles and their pleasures.”

“I see.  Straight from the throbbing heart of the people. 
Jones-in-the-street-car.”

“And Mrs. Jones.  Don’t forget her.  She’ll read ’em.”

“If she doesn’t, it won’t be because they don’t bid for her interest.  Here’s this one, ‘Better Cooking Means Better Husbands:  Try It.’  That’s the argumentum ad feminam with a vengeance.”

“Yes.  I picked that up from a fat old party who was advising a thin young wife at a fish-stall.  ‘Give’m his food right an’ he’ll come home to it, ‘stid o’ workin’ the free lunch.’”

“Here are two on the drink question.  ’Next Time Ask the Barkeep Why He Doesn’t Drink,’ and, ’Mighty Elephants Like Rum—­and Are Chained Slaves.’”

“You’ll find more moralizing on booze if you look farther.  It’s one of the subjects they talk most about.”

“’The Sardine is Dead:  Therefore More Comfortable Than You, Mr. Straphanger,’” read Marrineal.

“Go up in the rush-hour L any day and you’ll hear that editorial with trimmings.”