“I think I can persuade those young gentlemen,” remarked Montrose Clark sardonically, “that it is not to their interest to impose troublesome restrictions upon the corporation.” He pressed a button. There arrived upon the scene, with an effect of automatic response, that smooth, flawless, noiseless, expressionless piece of human mechanism, Edward Garson, the hand-perfected private secretary who, besides his immediate duties about the great man’s person, acted as go-between in minor matters, press-agent, and advertising manager for the Fenchester Public Utilities Corporation. Concerning him, Judge Dana had once remarked that the queerest thing about it was that it also had brains. “Garson,” barked Montrose Clark, in the tone which he deemed appropriate. The hand-perfected secretary bowed. “Bring in The Guardian advertising account.” The secretary bowed again and disappeared. Almost immediately he was back, bowing once more over a neatly typed single sheet of paper. “What is our total expenditure in The Guardian for the current year, up to date?” “For display advertising, eleven hundred and forty-seven dollars, sixty cents. For reading matter, two hundred and seventy-five.” “That includes editorial matter?” “Yes, sir.” “And in The Record?” “Seventeen hundred and twenty, sir. All display. They make no charge for editorials or readers, you recall, sir.” “True. We pay them a higher rate for display, and the editorial support is--er--” “By way of gratitude,” suggested Dana. “Exactly. Do you think, Dana, that either paper is in a position to discard the P.-U.’s support?” “Just a moment,” said the lawyer. “That display advertising bill of The Guardian’s; what was the bill as rendered?” Looking to Montrose Clark for permission and receiving it in a nod, the hand-perfected secretary replied, “Sixteen hundred dollars.” “Scaled down to a net of about eleven hundred and fifty.” “Yes. With discounts and rebates.” “Wymett fooled Robson worse than I had supposed. The young fool bought on the basis of the book rates. Discounts and rebates are going to be an unpleasant surprise to him.” “All of which will make him the easier to handle.” “Maybe. With gloves.” “It is not my habit,” said the local potentate austerely, “to concern myself deeply with other people’s over-sensitiveness, when it is a matter of business.” “Go easy with him,” insisted the other. “He’s got a temper. There’s a kind of a you-be-damned-ness about him. He’s a little puffed up with his new sense of power, and we’ve got to allow for that.” “Sense of power?” The magnate looked puzzled for the moment. “Oh, you mean his paper!” He laughed. “All right, Dana. I’ll be tactful with him. But of course I shan’t tolerate any nonsense.” The retort, “I doubt if he will, either,” was on the tip of the lawyer’s tongue. He suppressed it. It would only have irritated Montrose Clark’s vanity which, under friction, was prone to develop prickly heat.