The suggestion was not adopted. But in fifteen minutes the secretary, one button of his black cutaway flagrantly unbuttoned, was being admitted to the den by Buddy Higman. “This is most extraordinary, Mr. Robson,” he protested. “What’s extraordinary in it? Mr. Clark wants to see me on business, I assume?” “He does.” “This is my place of business.” “This is--you--you are going out of your way to be offensive,” accused the scandalized visitor. “Not going out of my way at all. I’m sitting tight. You might have noticed that yourself.” “Mr. Clark--that is to say, the Public Utilities Corporation has been a good friend to The Guardian.” “It’s been reciprocated in the past,” returned Jeremy dryly. “In the past? Am I to understand that the attitude of The Guardian toward the Corporation has changed?” “If Mr. Wymett was accustomed to run around whenever Mr. Clark chose to push a button, it has. Them good old days,” said Jeremy enjoyably, “is gone forever.” “Mr. Wymett returned courtesy for courtesies.” “So shall I. When I receive the courtesies.” “The advertising patronage--” “Don’t talk to me about advertising,” broke in the editor. “The few dollars that your concern pays into our cash drawer don’t entitle Mr. Clark to regard this paper as his errand boy.” Mr. Garson’s sensitive ear fixed upon the word “few.” “We are n’t doing much advertising anywhere just now,” he explained with a conciliating purr. “There will be more soon. Quite soon, in fact. But there were other ways, you understand, in which Mr. Clark’s friendship was useful to The Guardian--to Mr. Wymett.” “For example?” “News items. Inside information. Advance information, I may say, on the stock market, for instance, amounting to really advantageous opportunities.” “I see!” “Such information is still--er--available.” “I see, again. Would Mr. Clark confirm the proposition, do you think?” The hand-perfected private secretary beamed. His mission, self-inspired, was prospering famously. “Undoubtedly,” he averred. “In writing?” “Mr. Clark’s word is--” “As good as his bond. Naturally. I was merely thinking of such a letter not necessarily as a guarantee of good faith, but for publication.” A thin, gray veil appeared to draw itself across Mr. Garson’s countenance, out of which his eyes stared with an aspect of surprise and fright. This animal had claws! “For publication?” he gasped. “That’s it. You don’t think he’d do it? Well, he’s wise--to that extent, anyway. Now, you go back and tell Clark that when we open up for bribes we’ll take cash--and publish the news in the paper.” “What did you do to little Eddie Garson?” asked Andrew Galpin, coming in a moment later. “I just met him in the hall.” Jeremy explained. “You’re a rude thing!” grinned the general manager. “What’s your idea in going up against the P.-U.?”