“Mr. Clark, it is going to be very inconvenient not to have The Guardian note renewed.” The president of the P.-U. was no foe to time-saving directness. “It would be very inconvenient for us to have The Guardian misrepresenting the new franchise plan.” “That’s not a franchise. It’s a Hudson’s Bay Company charter. It would give you the right to do anything from conducting a revival to raising beans on the right of way. It is n’t even constitutional.” “Lesser legal authorities than yourself venture to dissent,” returned the other, sardonically. “Such as Judge Dana.” “He’s paid to.” “As you are paid for your partisanship, in circulation among sensation-seekers, and in the favors of that blatherskite, Embree.” “The Guardian stands by the Governor in this fight.” “Go to him for your loan, then.” “Am I to understand that unless I play the corporation game here, the banks are closed to me?” “Not from anything I have said.” “_Said_: no. It’s pretty plain what you mean. Well, the plant is good security. I can get money from the Chicago banks.” “Probably not,” was the quiet retort. It fell upon Jeremy’s consciousness, with chill foreboding, that this might be true. Little though he knew of banking, he guessed that any large, out-of-town banks would take counsel of the local institutions before making a loan. What information would thus be elicited would hardly be favorable. He rose. “All right, Mr. Clark. If you ‘re going to fight that way, it can’t be helped. The Guardian is n’t going to back down. We’ll fight you on your own terms, to a finish.” The red face of the local great man grew redder. “With this difference, that we’ll fight fair.” The face turned purple. “I bid you good-day, sir.” “What do you mean by talking to me about fairness?” burst out the other. “You don’t know what fairness is.” “Call it patriotism, then. If I were in your position, Mr. Clark, I don’t think I’d care to make a deal with the Deutscher Club committee, to try and ruin a newspaper for daring to be American and not hyphen-American.” Montrose Clark bolted up out of his chair. “It’s a lie,” he roared. “It’s the truth. Ask Judge Dana. You’re going to put him up for the Court of Appeals, I hear. Let me suggest that you read his record first. Or, you can read it later in The Guardian.” “Don’t you threaten your betters, sir.” Jeremy laughed. “Let me tell you before you go,” pursued the exacerbated banker, “that I have n’t forgotten your impertinence in pretending to expect me to trot around to your wretched little newspaper office.”