“I shall make nearer sixty than fifty this year.”

“At the expense of a possible loss to the paper.  Come, Mr. Banneker; the fairness of my offer is evident.  A generous guarantee, and a brilliant chance of future profits.”

“And a free hand with my editorials?”

“Surely that will arrange itself.”

“Precisely what I fear.”  Banneker had been making some swift calculations on his desk-blotter.  Now he took up a blue pencil and with a gesture, significant and not without dramatic effect, struck it down through the reckoning.  “No, Mr. Marrineal.  It isn’t good enough.  I hold to the old status.  When our contract is out—­”

“Just a moment, Mr. Banneker.  Isn’t there a French proverb, something about no man being as indispensable as he thinks?” Marrineal’s voice was never more suave and friendly.  “Before you make any final decision, look these over.”  He produced from his pocket half a dozen of what appeared to be Patriot editorial clippings.

The editor of The Patriot glanced rapidly through them.  A puzzled frown appeared on his face.

“When did I write these?”

“You didn’t.”

“Who did?”

“I”

“They’re dam’ good.”

“Aren’t they!”

“Also, they’re dam’ thievery.”

“Doubtless you mean flattery.  In its sincerest form.  Imitation.”

“Perfect.  I could believe I’d written them myself.”

“Yes; I’ve been a very careful student of The Patriot’s editorial style.”

“The Patriot’s!  Mine!”

“Surely not.  You would hardly contend seriously that, having paid the longest price on record for the editorials, The Patriot has not a vested right in them and their style.”

“I see,” said Banneker thoughtfully.  Inwardly he cursed himself for the worst kind of a fool; the fool who underestimates the caliber of his opponent.

“Would you say,” continued the smooth voice of the other, “that these might be mistaken for your work?”

“Nobody would know the difference.  It’s robbery of the rankest kind.  But it’s infernally clever.”

“I’m not going to quarrel with you over a definition, Mr. Banneker,” said Marrineal.  He leaned a little forward with a smile so frank and friendly that it quite astonished the other.  “And I’m not going to let you go, either,” he pursued.  “You need me and I need you.  I’m not fool enough to suppose that the imitation can ever continue to be as good as the real thing.  We’ll make it a fifty thousand guarantee, if you say so.  And, as for your editorial policy—­well, I’ll take a chance on your seeing reason.  After all, there’s plenty of earth to prance on without always treading on people’s toes....  Well, don’t decide now.  Take your time to it.”  He rose and went to the door.  There he turned, flapping the loose imitations in his hands.

“Banneker,” he said chuckling, “aren’t they really dam’ good!” and vanished.