Even under the new policy, however, The Patriot would hardly have proven, upon careful analysis, more decent or self-respecting.  But it was less obvious; cleverer in avoiding the openly offensive.  Capron had been curbed in his pictorial orgies.  The copy-readers had been supplied with a list of words and terms tabooed from the captions.  But the influence of Severance was still potent in the make-up of the news.  While Banneker was relieved at the change, he suspected its impermanency should it prove unsuccessful.  To neither his chief editorial writer nor Russell Edmonds had the proprietor so much as hinted at the modification of scheme.  His silence to these two was part of his developing policy of separating more widely the different departments of the paper in order that he might be the more quietly and directly authoritative over all.

The three men were lunching late at Delmonico’s, and talking politics, when Edmonds leaned forward in his seat to look toward the entrance.

“There’s Severance,” said he.  “What’s the matter with him?”

The professional infuser of excitements approached walking carefully among the tables.  His eyes burned in a white face.

“On one of his sprees,” diagnosed Banneker.  “Oh, Severance!  Sit down here.”

“I beg your p-p-pardon.”  Severance spoke with marked deliberation and delicacy, but with a faint stammer.  “These not b-being office hours, I have not the p-pleasure of your acquaintance.”

Marrineal smiled.

“The p-pale rictus of the damned,” observed Severance.  “As one damned soul to another, I c-confess a longing for companionship of m-my own sort.  Therefore I accept your invitation.  Waiter, a Scotch h-highball.”

“We were talking of—­” began Banneker, when the newcomer broke in: 

“Talk of m-me.  Of me and m-my work.  I exult in my w-work.  L-like Mr. Whitman, I celebrate myself.  I p-point with pride.  What think you, gentlemen, of to-day’s paper in honor of which I have t-taken my few drinks?”

“If you mean the Territon story,” growled Edmonds, “it’s rotten.”

“Precisely.  I thank you for your g-golden opinion.  Rotten.  Exactly as intended.”

“Put a woman’s good name on trial and sentence it on hearsay without appeal or recourse.”

“There is always the danger of going too far along those lines,” pointed out Marrineal judicially.

“Pardon me, all-wise Proprietor.  The d-danger lies in not going far enough.  The frightful p-peril of being found dull.”

“The Territon story assays too thin in facts, as we’ve put it out.  If Mrs. Territon doesn’t leave her husband now for McLaurin,” opined Marrineal, “we are in a difficult position.  I happen to know her and I very much doubt—­”

“Doubt not at all, d-doubting Tertius.  The very fact of our publishing the story will force her hand.  It’s an achievement, that story.  No other p-paper has a line of it.”