CHAPTER VI
THE TENEMENTS
To alter the scheme of a weekly from cover to cover is not a taskthat is completed without work. The dismissal of _Cosy Moments_'entire staff of contributors left a gap in the paper which had to befilled, and owing to the nearness of press day there was no time tofill it before the issue of the next number. The editorial staff hadto be satisfied with heading every page with the words "Look out!Look out!! Look out!!! See foot of page!!!!" printing in the spaceat the bottom the legend, "Next Week! See Editorial!" and compilingin conjunction a snappy editorial, setting forth the proposedchanges. This was largely the work of Psmith.
"Comrade Jackson," he said to Mike, as they set forth one eveningin search of their new flat, "I fancy I have found my metier.Commerce, many considered, was the line I should take; anddoubtless, had I stuck to that walk in life, I should soon havebecome a financial magnate. But something seemed to whisper to me,even in the midst of my triumphs in the New Asiatic Bank, thatthere were other fields. For the moment it seems to me that I havefound the job for which nature specially designed me. At last Ihave Scope. And without Scope, where are we? Wedged tightly inamong the ribstons. There are some very fine passages in thateditorial. The last paragraph, beginning '_Cosy Moments_ cannot bemuzzled,' in particular. I like it. It strikes the right note. Itshould stir the blood of a free and independent people till theysit in platoons on the doorstep of our office, waiting for the nextnumber to appear."
"How about that next number?" asked Mike. "Are you and Windsorgoing to fill the whole paper yourselves?"
"By no means. It seems that Comrade Windsor knows certain stoutfellows, reporters on other papers, who will be delighted to weighin with stuff for a moderate fee."
"How about Luella What's-her-name and the others? How have theytaken it?"
"Up to the present we have no means of ascertaining. The lettersgiving them the miss-in-baulk in no uncertain voice were onlydespatched yesterday. But it cannot affect us how they writhebeneath the blow. There is no reprieve."
Mike roared with laughter.
"It's the rummiest business I ever struck," he said. "I'm jollyglad it's not my paper. It's pretty lucky for you two lunatics thatthe proprietor's in Europe."
Psmith regarded him with pained surprise.
"I do not understand you, Comrade Jackson. Do you insinuate thatwe are not acting in the proprietor's best interests? When he seesthe receipts, after we have handled the paper for a while, he willgo singing about his hotel. His beaming smile will be a by-word inCarlsbad. Visitors will be shown it as one of the sights. His onlydoubt will be whether to send his money to the bank or keep it intubs and roll in it. We are on to a big thing, Comrade Jackson.Wait till you see our first number."
"And how about the editor? I should think that first number wouldbring him back foaming at the mouth."
"I have ascertained from Comrade Windsor that there is nothing tofear from that quarter. By a singular stroke of good fortuneComrade Wilberfloss--his name is Wilberfloss--has been orderedcomplete rest during his holiday. The kindly medico, realising thefearful strain inflicted by reading _Cosy Moments_ in its old form,specifically mentioned that the paper was to be withheld from himuntil he returned."
"And when he does return, what are you going to do?"
"By that time, doubtless, the paper will be in so flourishing astate that he will confess how wrong his own methods were and adoptours without a murmur. In the meantime, Comrade Jackson, I wouldcall your attention to the fact that we seem to have lost our way.In the exhilaration of this little chat, our footsteps havewandered. Where we are, goodness only knows. I can only say that Ishouldn't care to have to live here."
"There's a name up on the other side of that lamp-post."
"Let us wend in that direction. Ah, Pleasant Street? I fancy thatthe master-mind who chose that name must have had the rudiments ofa sense of humour."
It was indeed a repellent neighbourhood in which they had arrived.The New York slum stands in a class of its own. It is unique. Theheight of the houses and the narrowness of the streets seem tocondense its unpleasantness. All the smells and noises, which aremany and varied, are penned up in a sort of canyon, and gain invehemence from the fact. The masses of dirty clothes hanging fromthe fire-escapes increase the depression. Nowhere in the city doesone realise so fully the disadvantages of a lack of space. NewYork, being an island, has had no room to spread. It is a town ofhuman sardines. In the poorer quarters the congestion isunbelievable.
Psmith and Mike picked their way through the groups of raggedchildren who covered the roadway. There seemed to be thousands ofthem.
"Poor kids!" said Mike. "It must be awful living in a hole likethis."
Psmith said nothing. He was looking thoughtful. He glanced up atthe grimy buildings on each side. On the lower floors one couldsee into dark, bare rooms. These were the star apartments of thetenement-houses, for they opened on to the street, and so got alittle light and air. The imagination jibbed at the thought of theback rooms.
"I wonder who owns these places," said Psmith. "It seems to methat there's what you might call room for improvement. It wouldn'tbe a scaly idea to turn that _Cosy Moments_ search-light we weretalking about on to them."
They walked on a few steps.
"Look here," said Psmith, stopping. "This place makes me sick. I'mgoing in to have a look round. I expect some muscular householderwill resent the intrusion and boot us out, but we'll risk it."
Followed by Mike, he turned in at one of the doors. A group of menleaning against the opposite wall looked at them without curiosity.Probably they took them for reporters hunting for a story.Reporters were the only tolerably well-dressed visitors PleasantStreet ever entertained.
It was almost pitch dark on the stairs. They had to feel their wayup. Most of the doors were shut but one on the second floor wasajar. Through the opening they had a glimpse of a number of womensitting round on boxes. The floor was covered with little heaps oflinen. All the women were sewing. Mike, stumbling in the darkness,almost fell against the door. None of the women looked up at thenoise. Time was evidently money in Pleasant Street.
On the fourth floor there was an open door. The room was empty. Itwas a good representative Pleasant Street back room. The architectin this case had given rein to a passion for originality. He hadconstructed the room without a window of any sort whatsoever. Therewas a square opening in the door. Through this, it was to bepresumed, the entire stock of air used by the occupants wassupposed to come.
They stumbled downstairs again and out into the street. By contrastwith the conditions indoors the street seemed spacious and breezy.
"This," said Psmith, as they walked on, "is where _Cosy Moments_ getsbusy at a singularly early date."
"What are you going to do?" asked Mike.
"I propose, Comrade Jackson," said Psmith, "if Comrade Windsor isagreeable, to make things as warm for the owner of this place asI jolly well know how. What he wants, of course," he proceededin the tone of a family doctor prescribing for a patient, "isdisembowelling. I fancy, however, that a mawkishly sentimentallegislature will prevent our performing that national service. Wemust endeavour to do what we can by means of kindly criticism inthe paper. And now, having settled that important point, let ustry and get out of this place of wrath, and find Fourth Avenue."
Psmith, Journalist Page 6
