“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.”

“It’s true, isn’t it?”

“There’s a measure of truth in it.  But, Ban, you can’t use Mr. Marrineal’s own paper to expose conditions in Mr. Marrineal’s mother’s mills.  If he’d even directed you to hold off—­”