[Turning to go.
Don’t you worry about that.
How’s the House going?
Don’t know anything about the House. But I guess your man Maynard is doing his job. I’m off to see Cottrell. Another man that wants news. Be back in ten minutes.
Keep me posted, for God’s sake. You know—I’m not ungrateful. You shan’t lose by your efforts, Taney. You know I’m a liberal man.
[Quietly, but with emphasis.
Look here. You’re not Conroy and you’re not Pollen. They’re the whales in this pond. You’re only a nervous minnow. I’m working with bigger men than you. And perhaps I’ve got some convictions of my own, had ’em for years. If I hadn’t, no money of yours would buy me. I believe the people want this war to settle once and for all whether that wishy-washy King or us is going to direct the universe, and if the people want it, it’s my business to see that they get it. If that means any money in your pocket, it’s none of my business. But I’m not your slave, Grosvenor. And don’t you forget it.
You’ll keep me posted? If anything goes wrong, I’ve got to have time to get from under. You’ll surely keep me posted?
Get your man Maynard on the string. I’m hanged if I’ll be your office boy.
[TANEY goes out. GROSVENOR takes a step toward the door, stops, and drawing a cigar from his pocket, begins chewing the end nervously. Then he turns quickly, and crossing to the right, picks up the telephone instrument again.
Office of the “Morning Bulletin,” please.
Mr. Pollen, please. Out? This is Mr. Grosvenor.
On his way to the Club?
[MR. CONROY enters, right. He is a short, stockily-built man with a belligerent chin covered by a close-cropped, grizzled beard.
[With a sharp glance and not entirely pleasant smile.
I might have known that I’d find you on the job. What is it this time—canned goods, uniforms, hospital supplies—or just general enthusiasm?
A little business, but mainly enthusiasm. A great time to be alive, Conroy! Any news?