Psmith, Journalist
Page 5
CHAPTER V
PLANNING IMPROVEMENTS
"By the way," said Psmith, "what is your exact position on thispaper? Practically, we know well, you are its back-bone, itslife-blood; but what is your technical position? When yourproprietor is congratulating himself on having secured the idealman for your job, what precise job does he congratulate himself onhaving secured the ideal man for?"
"I'm sub-editor."
"Merely sub? You deserve a more responsible post than that, ComradeWindsor. Where is your proprietor? I must buttonhole him and pointout to him what a wealth of talent he is allowing to waste itself.You must have scope."
"He's in Europe. At Carlsbad, or somewhere. He never comes nearthe paper. He just sits tight and draws the profits. He lets theeditor look after things. Just at present I'm acting as editor."
"Ah! then at last you have your big chance. You are free,untrammelled."
"You bet I'm not," said Billy Windsor. "Guess again. There's noroom for developing free untrammelled ideas on this paper. Whenyou've looked at it, you'll see that each page is run by some one.I'm simply the fellow who minds the shop."
Psmith clicked his tongue sympathetically. "It is like setting agifted French chef to wash up dishes," he said. "A man of yourundoubted powers, Comrade Windsor, should have more scope. That isthe cry, 'more scope!' I must look into this matter. When I gaze atyour broad, bulging forehead, when I see the clear light ofintelligence in your eyes, and hear the grey matter splashingrestlessly about in your cerebellum, I say to myself withouthesitation, 'Comrade Windsor must have more scope.'" He looked atMike, who was turning over the leaves of his copy of _Cosy Moments_in a sort of dull despair. "Well, Comrade Jackson, and what is yourverdict?"
Mike looked at Billy Windsor. He wished to be polite, yet he couldfind nothing polite to say. Billy interpreted the look.
"Go on," he said. "Say it. It can't be worse than what I think."
"I expect some people would like it awfully," said Mike.
"They must, or they wouldn't buy it. I've never met any of themyet, though."
Psmith was deep in Luella Granville Waterman's "Moments in theNursery." He turned to Billy Windsor.
"Luella Granville Waterman," he said, "is not by any chance your_nom-de-plume_, Comrade Windsor?"
"Not on your life. Don't think it."
"I am glad," said Psmith courteously. "For, speaking as man to man,I must confess that for sheer, concentrated bilge she gets awaywith the biscuit with almost insolent ease. Luella GranvilleWaterman must go."
"How do you mean?"
"She must go," repeated Psmith firmly. "Your first act, now thatyou have swiped the editorial chair, must be to sack her."
"But, say, I can't. The editor thinks a heap of her stuff."
"We cannot help his troubles. We must act for the good of thepaper. Moreover, you said, I think, that he was away?"
"So he is. But he'll come back."
"Sufficient unto the day, Comrade Windsor. I have a suspicion thathe will be the first to approve your action. His holiday will havecleared his brain. Make a note of improvement number one--thesacking of Luella Granville Waterman."
"I guess it'll be followed pretty quick by improvement numbertwo--the sacking of William Windsor. I can't go monkeying aboutwith the paper that way."
Psmith reflected for a moment.
"Has this job of yours any special attractions for you, ComradeWindsor?"
"I guess not."
"As I suspected. You yearn for scope. What exactly are yourambitions?"
"I want to get a job on one of the big dailies. I don't see howI'm going to fix it, though, at the present rate."
Psmith rose, and tapped him earnestly on the chest.
"Comrade Windsor, you have touched the spot. You are wasting thegolden hours of your youth. You must move. You must hustle. Youmust make Windsor of _Cosy Moments_ a name to conjure with. You mustboost this sheet up till New York rings with your exploits. On thepresent lines that is impossible. You must strike out a line foryourself. You must show the world that even _Cosy Moments_ cannotkeep a good man down."
He resumed his seat.
"How do you mean?" said Billy Windsor.
Psmith turned to Mike.
"Comrade Jackson, if you were editing this paper, is there a singlefeature you would willingly retain?"
"I don't think there is," said Mike. "It's all pretty bad rot."
"My opinion in a nutshell," said Psmith, approvingly. "ComradeJackson," he explained, turning to Billy, "has a secure reputationon the other side for the keenness and lucidity of his views uponliterature. You may safely build upon him. In England when ComradeJackson says 'Turn' we all turn. Now, my views on the matter are asfollows. _Cosy Moments_, in my opinion (worthless, were it not backedby such a virtuoso as Comrade Jackson), needs more snap, more go.All these putrid pages must disappear. Letters must be despatchedto-morrow morning, informing Luella Granville Waterman and theothers (and in particular B. Henderson Asher, who from a cursoryglance strikes me as an ideal candidate for a lethal chamber) that,unless they cease their contributions instantly, you will becompelled to place yourself under police protection. After that wecan begin to move."
Billy Windsor sat and rocked himself in his chair without replying.He was trying to assimilate this idea. So far the grandeur of ithad dazed him. It was too spacious, too revolutionary. Could it bedone? It would undoubtedly mean the sack when Mr. J. FillkenWilberfloss returned and found the apple of his eye torn asunderand, so to speak, deprived of its choicest pips. On the other hand. . . His brow suddenly cleared. After all, what was the sack? Onecrowded hour of glorious life is worth an age without a name, andhe would have no name as long as he clung to his present position.The editor would be away ten weeks. He would have ten weeks inwhich to try himself out. Hope leaped within him. In ten weeks hecould change _Cosy Moments_ into a real live paper. He wondered thatthe idea had not occurred to him before. The trifling fact that thedespised journal was the property of Mr. Benjamin White, and thathe had no right whatever to tinker with it without that gentleman'sapproval, may have occurred to him, but, if it did, it occurred somomentarily that he did not notice it. In these crises one cannotthink of everything.
"I'm on," he said, briefly.
Psmith smiled approvingly.
"That," he said, "is the right spirit. You will, I fancy, havelittle cause to regret your decision. Fortunately, if I may say so,I happen to have a certain amount of leisure just now. It is atyour disposal. I have had little experience of journalistic work,but I foresee that I shall be a quick learner. I will become yoursub-editor, without salary."
"Bully for you," said Billy Windsor.
"Comrade Jackson," continued Psmith, "is unhappily more fettered.The exigencies of his cricket tour will compel him constantly to begadding about, now to Philadelphia, now to Saskatchewan, anon toOnehorseville, Ga. His services, therefore, cannot be relied uponcontinuously. From him, accordingly, we shall expect little butmoral support. An occasional congratulatory telegram. Now and thena bright smile of approval. The bulk of the work will devolve uponour two selves."
"Let it devolve," said Billy Windsor, enthusiastically.
"Assuredly," said Psmith. "And now to decide upon our main scheme.You, of course, are the editor, and my suggestions are merelysuggestions, subject to your approval. But, briefly, my idea isthat _Cosy Moments_ should become red-hot stuff. I could wish itstone to be such that the public will wonder why we do not print iton asbestos. We must chronicle all the live events of the day,murders, fires, and the like in a manner which will make ourreaders' spines thrill. Above all, we must be the guardians of thePeople's rights. We must be a search-light, showing up the darkspot in the souls of those who would endeavour in any way to do thePEOPLE in the eye. We must detect the wrong-doer, and deliver himsuch a series of resentful buffs that he will abandon his littlegames and become a model citizen. The details of the campaign wemust think out after, but I fancy that, if we follow those mainli
nes, we shall produce a bright, readable little sheet which willin a measure make this city sit up and take notice. Are you withme, Comrade Windsor?"
"Surest thing you know," said Billy with fervour.