Obedient to several suggestions, Matthew Ellison, head of Ellison Brothers’ department store and president of the Retailers’ Association, reared his ample form, and smiled his conscientious smile, from above a graying chin whisker, upon the assembled feasters. In a long and rambling talk which Andrew Galpin would have fairly slaughtered with an editorial blue pencil, Mr. Ellison referred to Jeremy something more than two dozen times as “our esteemed young friend” and at least a dozen as “my dear young friend”; both of which were equally accurate and sincere. The gist of his speech, so far as any one present could grasp it, seemed to indicate a guarded agnosticism concerning the announced policy of the paper. Upon the heels of the windy compliment with which he closed, Adolph Ahrens, junior partner and advertising manager of the Great Northwestern Stores, popped up. Mr. Ahrens was a young, blackish, combative-jawed man with twitchy eyes. “This don’t go,” he said belligerently. “I’ve got a letter in my files, stipulating a rebate, that’s as good as a contract.” “Signed by?” queried Jeremy suggestively. “Signed by The Guardian, per A. M. Wymett.” “So have I,” declared Turnbull, and was echoed by Lehn, of Stormont & Lehn, Betts, and half a dozen more. “It seems to have been a habit,” remarked Jeremy. “But, gentlemen, A. M. Wymett is no longer The Guardian. His secret rebates do not bind us indefinitely.” “The courts ’ll have a word to say on that,” declared the combative Ahrens. “Easy, gentlemen! Let’s be friendly,” purred Matthew Ellison. “We need n’t go to the courts,” put in Andrew Galpin. “In the cases where rebates were offered, the rate will be raised to a point where it covers the rebates.” “Where do _you_ come in?” demanded Ahrens. “As acting advertising manager of The Guardian.” “What becomes of your ‘one-rate-for-all’ claim?” Turnbull turned upon Jeremy. “Discarded,” said the owner, promptly accepting Galpin’s strategy. “Why ain’d I neffer gud any discound?” inquired Bernard Stockmuller, the leading jeweler of the town, in a powerful and plaintive voice. “Because you never had the sense to stick out for it, Barney,” retorted Betts. “You were easy.” “There you have the unfairness of the system,” Jeremy pointed out. “Mr. Stockmuller is as frequent a user of space as some of you who have taken rebates. Gentlemen, it does n’t go any more.” “Well, this is a hell of a note!” murmured a discontented voice which seemed to emanate from the depths of the abdominal curve of the senior partner of Arndt & Niebuhr, furniture dealers. “Did any of these private letters from Mr. Wymett mention reading notices as an extra inducement?” asked the host of the occasion. . “There was no need,” stated Ellison. “‘Readers’ are a recognized courtesy to advertisers.” “They take up space,” Jeremy pointed out. “They cost money, for ink, paper, and setting up. From the newspaper’s viewpoint, they’re a dead loss.”