Very well, Banneker could be a good waiter.
Meantime he had at least asserted his independence.
Io called him up by 'phone, avid of news of the editorial, and he was
permitted to take her to luncheon and tell her all about it. In her
opinion he had won a victory; established a position. Banneker was far
less sanguine; he had come to entertain a considerable respect for
Marrineal's capacity. And he had another and more immediate complication
on his mind, which fact his companion, by some occult exercise of
divination, perceived.
"What else is worrying you, Ban?" she asked.
Banneker did not want to talk about that. He wanted to talk about Io,
about themselves. He said so. She shook her head.
"Tell me about the paper."
"Oh, just the usual complications. There's nothing to interest you in
them."
"Everything," she maintained ardently.
Banneker caught his breath. Had she given him her lips, it could hardly
have meant more--perhaps not meant so much as this tranquil assumption
of her right to share in the major concerns of his life.
"If you've been reading the paper," he began, and waited for her silent
nod before going on, "you know our attitude toward organized labor."
"Yes. You are for it when it is right and not always against it when it
is wrong.
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