The Patriot itself

"Well--in a way, I have," he returned hesitantly. "But with reservations," she interpreted. "What are they?" "One, only, but a big one. The Patriot itself. You see, Io, The Patriot is another matter." "Why is it another matter?" "Well, there's Marrineal, for example." "I don't know Mr. Marrineal. Evidently you don't trust him." "I trust nobody," disclosed the lawyer, a little sternly, "who is represented by what The Patriot is and does, whether it be Marrineal, Banneker, or another." His glance, wandering about the room, fell on Russell Edmonds, seated in a corner talking with the Great Gaines. "Unless it be Edmonds over there," he qualified. "All his life he has fought me as a corporation lawyer; yet I have the queer feeling that I could trust the inmost secret of my life to his honor. Probably I'm an old fool, eh?" Io devoted a moment's study to the lined and worn face of the veteran. "No. I think you're right," she pronounced. "In any case, he isn't responsible for The Patriot. He can't help it." "Don't be so cryptic, Cousin Billy. Can't help what? What is wrong with the paper?" "You wouldn't understand." "But I want to understand," said imperious Io. "As a basis to understanding, you'd have to read the paper." "I have. Everyday. All of it." He gave her a quick, reckoning look which she sustained with a slight deepening of color. "The advertisements, too?" She nodded. "What do you think of them?" "Some of them are too disgusting to discuss." "Did it occur to you to compare them with the lofty standards of our young friend's editorials?" "What has he to do with the advertisements?" she countered.