"He don't
believe what he wrote about Wheelwright; just did it for his own
purposes. Well, if the oracle can work himself for his own purposes,
others can work him when the time comes, if it's properly managed."
Marrineal shook his head. "If there's a weakness in him I haven't found
it."
Ives put on a look of confidential assurance. "Be sure it's there. Only
it isn't of the ordinary kind. Banneker is pretty big in his way. No,"
he pursued thoughtfully; "it isn't women, and it isn't Wall Street, and
it isn't drink; it isn't even money, in the usual sense. But it's
something. By the way, did I tell you that I'd found an acquaintance
from the desert where Banneker hails from?"
"No." Marrineal's tone subtly indicated that he should have been told at
once. That sort of thing was, indeed, the basis on which Ives drew a
considerable stipend from his patron's private purse, as "personal
representative of Mr. Marrineal" for purposes unspecified.
"A railroad man. From what he tells me there was some sort of
love-affair there. A girl who materialized from nowhere and spent two
weeks, mostly with the romantic station-agent. Might have been a
princess in exile, by my informant, who saw her twice. More likely some
cheap little skate of a movie actress on a bust.
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