Receiving vague and pained replies, they even went to
the length of holding a meeting and sending a committee to wait upon the
desperate Haring, passing over the advertising manager who was a mere
figurehead in The Patriot office.
Then began one of those scenes of bullying and browbeating to which
every newspaper, not at once powerful and honest enough to command the
fear and respect of its advertisers, is at some time subjected. Haring,
the victim personifying the offending organ, was stretched upon the rack
and put to the question. What explanation had he to offer of The
Patriot's breach of faith?
He had none, had the miserable business manager. No one could regret it
more than he. But, really, gentlemen, to call it a breach of faith--
What else was it? Wasn't the paper turning on its own advertisers?
Well; in a sense. But not--
But nothing! Wasn't it trying to undermine their legitimate business?
Not intentionally, Mr. Haring was (piteously) sure.
Intentionally be damned! Did he expect to carry their advertising on one
page and ruin their business on another? Did he think they were putting
money into The Patriot--a doubtful medium for their business, at
best--to cut their own throats? They'd put it to him reasonably, now;
who, after all, paid for the getting out of The Patriot? Wasn't it the
advertisers?
Certainly, certainly, gentlemen.
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