Титан

The Power of the Press

           Hewentaway,hopingthathecouldinfluencetheInquirerinsomeotherwayupontheoldGeneral’sreturn.

           AshewassittingnextmorninginhisofficeinNorthClarkStreethewasarousedbythestillnovel-soundingbellofthetelephoneoneoftheearliestinuseonthewallbackofhim.Afteraparleywithhissecretary,hewasinformedthatagentlemanconnectedwiththeInquirerwishedtospeakwithhim.

           "ThisistheInquirer,"saidavoicewhichCowperwood,hiseartothereceiver,thoughtherecognizedasthatofyoungTrumanMacDonald,theGeneral’sson."Youwantedtoknow,"continuedthevoice,"whatwouldbeconsideredadequatecompensationsofarasthattunnelmatterisconcerned.Canyouhearme?"

           "Yes,"repliedCowperwood.

           "Well,Ishouldnotcaretoinfluenceyourjudgmentonewayortheother;butifmyopinionwereaskedIshouldsayaboutfiftythousanddollars’worthofNorthChicagoStreetRailwaystockwouldbesatisfactory."

           Thevoicewasyoung,clear,steely.

           "Towhomwouldyousuggestthatitmightbepaid?"Cowperwoodasked,softly,quitegenially.

           "That,also,Iwouldsuggest,mightbelefttoyourverysoundjudgment."

           Thevoiceceased.Thereceiverwashungup.

           "Well,I’llbedamned!"Cowperwoodsaid,lookingatthefloorreflectively.Asmilespreadoverhisface."I’mnotgoingtobehelduplikethat.Idon’tneedtobe.Itisn’tworthit

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