"A Wild
West shooting is one thing, and cold-blooded, premeditated murder is
another. You'd go to the chair."
"Cheerfully," assented Banneker.
Bussey, lifting the typed sheets before him, began to read. Presently
his face flushed.
"Why, if you print this sort of thing, you'd have my office mobbed," he
cried indignantly.
"It's possible."
"It's outrageous! And this--if this isn't an incitement to lynching--You
wouldn't dare publish this!"
"Try me."
Major Bussey's wizened and philanthropic face took on the cast of
careful thought. At length he spoke with the manner of an elder
bestowing wisdom upon youth.
"A controversy such as this would do nobody any good. I have always been
opposed to journalistic backbitings. Therefore we will let this matter
lie. I will kill the paragraph. Not that I'm afraid of your threats; nor
of your pen, for that matter. But in the best interests of our common
profession--"
"Good-day," said Banneker, and walked out, leaving the Major stranded
upon the ebb tide of his platitudes.
Banneker retailed the episode to Edmonds, for his opinion.
"He's afraid of your gun, a little," pronounced the expert; "and more of
your pen. I think he'll keep faith in this."
"As long as I hold over him the threat of The Patriot.
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