“Unless you can raise your rates. And I’m showing you the way. Right here in Fenchester, as soon as the common people are satisfied that you really represent their interests, subscriptions will flood you.” Suspicion of the phrase beset Jeremy. “I’m not going in for any demagogue, yellow journal stuff.” “Nobody wants you to. Just a decent, clean, fair-minded, progressive radicalism. If I can stand up in my next campaign and say honestly that there is a newspaper at the State capital, in the stronghold of old-line politics and graft, that represents what I stand for, that newspaper is going to boom. And I’m ready to do it.” “On what terms?” “None.” “Just out of regard for my fascinating personality?” Martin Embree’s smile appeared again, conciliatory, persuasive, earnest. “Let’s understand each other, Robson. I’m convinced that you’re on the level. That’s the first point. I’m convinced that you’re honestly a radical, even if you’re a mild one. That’s the Second. Barring differences on minor policies which are bound to arise between independent-minded men, you and I stand for the same principles. You know my motivating ambition?” “The governorship,” replied Jeremy innocently. A furrow of annoyance appeared between the lofty brows of the Senator. “The ambition of my life,” he said emphatically, “is to serve the people of this State by delivering our government out of the clutches of the corporations. To that end I will accept any office, high or low, within the gift of the voters.” Oratorical as was the delivery, there was a certain ring of enthusiasm which went far to convince the editor. In the years to come, of constant alliance with Martin Embree, Robson satisfied himself of the man’s essential devotion to the cause which he had made his own, a devotion second only to the monstrous egotism which subordinated all causes and all principles to his own rodent ambition, or, rather, merged and absorbed them in that ambition. “Of course; of course,” apologized the editor. “But you _do_ want to be Governor, don’t you?” “I’m going to be Governor,” was the positive response. “Not all their money can stop me. This campaign of mine for reelection to the Senate is really a preliminary skirmish for the bigger thing. I could be reelected without lifting a finger, so far as that goes. But I want to hammer home the State issues. And if you and I hammer at the same time, it is n’t going to do either of us a bit of harm! By the way, you ought to have agents on the ground to boost your circulation in the places where I campaign. Who’s your circulation manager?” “A routine scrub. No good. I’m shipping him. Do you happen to know of any one?” “Yes. I’ve got the very man for you, if he’ll come. Max Verrall, a live wire on The Forreston Tribune. He’s a youngster, but a hustler. I think I can get him for you.” “I’ll take him on your say-so.”