And I
was going to propose that we write one every Saturday."
"Io!" he cried. "Does that mean--"
"It means that I shall become a regular attendant at Mr. Errol
Banneker's famous Saturday nights. Don't ask me what more it means." She
rose and delivered the typed sheets into his hands. "I--I don't know,
myself. Take me back to the others, Ban."
To Banneker, wakened next morning to a life of new vigor and sweetness,
the outcome of the mail-order editorial was worth not one troubled
thought. All his mind was centered on Io.
CHAPTER VII
Explosions of a powerful and resonant nature followed the publication of
the fantastic, imaginative, and delightful mail-order catalogue
editorial. In none of these senses, except the first, did it appeal to
the advertising managers of the various department stores. They looked
upon it as an outrage, an affront, a deliberate slap in the face for an
established, vested, and prodigal support of the newspaper press. What
the devil did The Patriot mean by it; The Patriot which sorely needed
just their class of reputable patronage, and, after sundry contortions
of rate-cutting, truckling, and offers of news items to back the
advertising, was beginning to get it? They asked themselves, and,
failing of any satisfactory answer, they asked The Patriot in no
uncertain terms.
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