little."

"About angle-worms?"

"About anything. It's the process I'm after. Only let me start them
thinking about evolution and pretty soon I'll have them thinking about
the relations of modern society--and thinking my way. Five hundred
thousand people, all thinking in the way we told 'em to think--"

"Could elect Willis Enderby mayor of New York," interjected the
practical Edmonds.

Marrineal, whose face had become quite expressionless, gave a little
start. "Who?" he said.

"Judge Enderby of the Law Enforcement Society."

"Oh! Yes. Of course. Or any one else."

"Or any one else," agreed Banneker, catching a quick, informed glance
from Edmonds.

"Frankly, your scheme seems a little fantastic to me," pronounced the
owner of The Patriot. "But that may be only because it's new. It might
be worth trying out." He reverted again to his expressionless reverie,
out of which exhaled the observation: "I wonder what the present
editorial staff could do with that."

"Am I to infer that you intend to help yourself to my idea?" inquired
Banneker.

Mr. Marrineal aroused himself hastily from his editorial dream. Though
by no means a fearful person, he was uncomfortably sensible of a menace,
imminent and formidable. It was not in Banneker's placid face, nor in
the unaltered tone wherein the pertinent query was couched.
Nevertheless, the object of that query became aware that young Banneker
was not a person to be trifled with. He now went on, equably to say:

"Because, if you do, it might be as well to give me the chance of
developing it."

Possibly the "Of course," with which Marrineal responded to this
reasonable suggestion, was just a little bit over-prompt.

"Give me ten days. No: two weeks, and I'll be ready to show my wares.
Where can I find you?"

Marrineal gave a telephone address. "It isn't in the book," he said. "It
will always get me between 9 A.M. and noon."

They talked of matters journalistic, Marrineal lapsing tactfully into
the role of attentive listener again, until there appeared in the lower
room a dark-faced man of thirty-odd, spruce and alert, who, upon
sighting them, came confidently forward. Marrineal ordered him a drink
and presented him to the two journalists as Mr. Ely Ives. As Mr. Ives,
it appeared, was in the secret of Marrineal's journalistic connection,
the talk was resumed, becoming more general. Presently Marrineal
consulted his watch.

"You're not going up to the After-Theater Club