Granted.
Could the paper run a month, a fortnight, a week without advertising?
No; no! It couldn't. No newspaper could.
Then if the advertisers paid the paper's way, weren't they entitled to
some say about it? Didn't it have a right to give 'em at least a fair
show?
Indeed, gentlemen, if he, Haring, were in control of the paper--
Then, why; why the _hell_ was a cub of an editor allowed to cut loose
and jump their game that way? They could find other places to spend
their money; yes, and get a better return for it. They'd see The
Patriot, and so on, and so forth.
Mr. Haring understood their feelings, sympathized, even shared them.
Unfortunately the editorial page was quite out of his province.
Whose province was it, then? Mr. Banneker's, eh? And to whom was Mr.
Banneker responsible? Mr. Marrineal, alone? All right! They would see
Mr. Marrineal.
Mr. Haring was sorry, but Mr. Marrineal was out of town. (Fiction.)
Well, in that case, Banneker. They'd trust themselves to show him which
foot he got off on. They'd teach (two of them, in their stress of
emotion, said "learn"; they were performing this in chorus) Banneker--
Oh, Mr. Banneker wasn't there, either. (Haring, very terrified, and
having built up an early conception of the Wild West Banneker from the
clean-up of the dock gang, beheld in his imagination dejected members of
the committee issuing piecemeal from the doors and windows of the
editorial office, the process being followed by an even more regrettable
exodus of advertising from the pages of The Patriot.
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