Banneker looked at her searchingly.  “Is that why you broke with Marrineal, Betty?”

“Not exactly.  No.  This Zucker deal came afterward.  But I think I had begun to see what sort of principles Tertius represented.  You and I aren’t children, Ban:  I can talk straight talk to you.  Well, there’s prostitution on the stage, of course.  Not so much of it as outsiders think, but more than enough.  I’ve kept myself free of any contact with it.  That being so, I’m certainly not going to associate myself with that sort of thing in another field.  Ban, I’ve made the management refuse Zucker admittance to the theater.  And he gave the play a wonderful send-off, as you know.  Of course, Tertius would have him do that.”

Rising, Banneker walked over and soberly shook the girl’s hand.  “Betty, you’re a fine and straight and big little person.  I’m proud to know you.  And I’m ashamed of myself that I can do nothing.  Not now, anyway.  Later, perhaps....”

“No, I suppose you can’t,” she said listlessly.  “But you’ll be interested in seeing how the Zucker system works out; a half-page ad. in the Sunday edition gets a special signed and illustrated feature article, a quarter-page only a column of ordinary press stuff.  A full page—­I don’t know what he’ll offer for that.  An editorial by E.B. perhaps.”

“Betty!”

“Forgive me, Ban.  I’m sick at heart over it all.  Of course, I know you wouldn’t.”

Going back in his car, Banneker reflected with profound distaste that the plan upon which he was hired was not essentially different from the Zucker scheme, in Marrineal’s intent.  He, too, was—­if Marrineal’s idea worked out—­to draw down a percentage varying in direct ratio to his suppleness in accommodating his writings to “the best interests of the paper.”  He swore that he would see The Patriot and its proprietor eternally damned before he would again alter jot or tittle of his editorial expression with reference to any future benefit.

It did not take long for Mr. Zucker to manifest his presence to Banneker through a line asking for an interview, written in a neat, small hand upon a card reading: 

The Patriot—­Special Theatrical Features E. Zucker, Representative.

Mr. Zucker, being sent for, materialized as a buoyant little person, richly ornamented with his own initials in such carefully chosen locations as his belt-buckle, his cane, and his cigarettes.  He was, he explained, injecting some new and profitable novelties into the department of dramatic criticism.

“Just a moment,” quoth Banneker.  “I thought that Allan Haslett had come on from Chicago to be our dramatic critic.”

“Oh, he and the business office didn’t hit it off very well,” said little Zucker carelessly.

“Oh!  And do you hit it off pretty well with the business office?”

“Naturally.  It was Mr. Haring brought me on here; I’m a special departmental manager in the advertising department.”