CHAPTER X
GOING SOME
There was once an editor of a paper in the Far West who was sittingat his desk, musing pleasantly of life, when a bullet crashedthrough the window and embedded itself in the wall at the back ofhis head. A happy smile lit up the editor's face. "Ah," he saidcomplacently, "I knew that Personal column of ours was going to bea success!"
What the bullet was to the Far West editor, the visit of Mr.Francis Parker to the offices of _Cosy Moments_ was to Billy Windsor.
It occurred in the third week of the new _regime_ of the paper._Cosy Moments_, under its new management, had bounded ahead like amotor-car when the throttle is opened. Incessant work had been theorder of the day. Billy Windsor's hair had become more dishevelledthan ever, and even Psmith had at moments lost a certain amount ofhis dignified calm. Sandwiched in between the painful case of KidBrady and the matter of the tenements, which formed the star itemsof the paper's contents, was a mass of bright reading dealing withthe events of the day. Billy Windsor's newspaper friends had turnedin some fine, snappy stuff in their best Yellow Journal manner,relating to the more stirring happenings in the city. Psmith, whohad constituted himself guardian of the literary and dramaticinterests of the paper, had employed his gift of general invectiveto considerable effect, as was shown by a conversation betweenMaster Maloney and a visitor one morning, heard through the opendoor.
"I wish to see the editor of this paper," said the visitor.
"Editor not in," said Master Maloney, untruthfully.
"Ha! Then when he returns I wish you to give him a message."
"Sure."
"I am Aubrey Bodkin, of the National Theatre. Give him mycompliments, and tell him that Mr. Bodkin does not lightly forget."
An unsolicited testimonial which caused Psmith the keenestsatisfaction.
The section of the paper devoted to Kid Brady was attractive to allthose with sporting blood in them. Each week there appeared in thesame place on the same page a portrait of the Kid, looking moodyand important, in an attitude of self-defence, and under theportrait the legend, "Jimmy Garvin must meet this boy." Jimmy wasthe present holder of the light-weight title. He had won it a yearbefore, and since then had confined himself to smoking cigars aslong as walking-sticks and appearing nightly as the star in amusic-hall sketch entitled "A Fight for Honour." His reminiscenceswere appearing weekly in a Sunday paper. It was this that gavePsmith the idea of publishing Kid Brady's autobiography in _CosyMoments_, an idea which made the Kid his devoted adherent from thenon. Like most pugilists, the Kid had a passion for bursting intoprint, and his life had been saddened up to the present by therefusal of the press to publish his reminiscences. To appear inprint is the fighter's accolade. It signifies that he has arrived.Psmith extended the hospitality of page four of _Cosy Moments_ to KidBrady, and the latter leaped at the chance. He was grateful toPsmith for not editing his contributions. Other pugilists,contributing to other papers, groaned under the supervision of amember of the staff who cut out their best passages and altered therest into Addisonian English. The readers of _Cosy Moments_ got KidBrady raw.
"Comrade Brady," said Psmith to Billy, "has a singularly pure andpleasing style. It is bound to appeal powerfully to themany-headed. Listen to this bit. Our hero is fighting Battling JackBenson in that eminent artist's native town of Louisville, and thecitizens have given their native son the Approving Hand, whilereceiving Comrade Brady with chilly silence. Here is the Kid on thesubject: 'I looked around that house, and I seen I hadn't a friendin it. And then the gong goes, and I says to myself how I has onefriend, my poor old mother way out in Wyoming, and I goes in andmixes it, and then I seen Benson losing his goat, so I ups with anawful half-scissor hook to the plexus, and in the next round I seenBenson has a chunk of yellow, and I gets in with a hay-maker and Ipicks up another sleep-producer from the floor and hands it him,and he takes the count all right.' . . Crisp, lucid, and to thepoint. That is what the public wants. If this does not bringComrade Garvin up to the scratch, nothing will."
But the feature of the paper was the "Tenement" series. It was latesummer now, and there was nothing much going on in New York. Thepublic was consequently free to take notice. The sale of _CosyMoments_ proceeded briskly. As Psmith had predicted, the change ofpolicy had the effect of improving the sales to a marked extent.Letters of complaint from old subscribers poured into the officedaily. But, as Billy Windsor complacently remarked, they had paidtheir subscriptions, so that the money was safe whether they readthe paper or not. And, meanwhile, a large new public had sprung upand was growing every week. Advertisements came trooping in. _CosyMoments_, in short, was passing through an era of prosperityundreamed of in its history.
"Young blood," said Psmith nonchalantly, "young blood. That is thesecret. A paper must keep up to date, or it falls behind itscompetitors in the race. Comrade Wilberfloss's methods werepossibly sound, but too limited and archaic. They lacked ginger. Weof the younger generation have our fingers more firmly on thepublic pulse. We read off the public's unspoken wishes as if byintuition. We know the game from A to Z."
At this moment Master Maloney entered, bearing in his hand a card.
"'Francis Parker'?" said Billy, taking it. "Don't know him."
"Nor I," said Psmith. "We make new friends daily."
"He's a guy with a tall-shaped hat," volunteered Master Maloney,"an' he's wearin' a dude suit an' shiny shoes."
"Comrade Parker," said Psmith approvingly, "has evidently not beenblind to the importance of a visit to _Cosy Moments_. He has dressedhimself in his best. He has felt, rightly, that this is no occasionfor the old straw hat and the baggy flannels. I would not have itotherwise. It is the right spirit. Shall we give him audience,Comrade Windsor?"
"I wonder what he wants."
"That," said Psmith, "we shall ascertain more clearly after apersonal interview. Comrade Maloney, show the gentleman in. We cangive him three and a quarter minutes."
Pugsy withdrew.
Mr. Francis Parker proved to be a man who might have been any agebetween twenty-five and thirty-five. He had a smooth, clean-shavenface, and a cat-like way of moving. As Pugsy had stated in effect,he wore a tail-coat, trousers with a crease which brought a smileof kindly approval to Psmith's face, and patent-leather boots ofpronounced shininess. Gloves and a tall hat, which he carried,completed an impressive picture.
He moved softly into the room.
"I wished to see the editor."
Psmith waved a hand towards Billy.
"The treat has not been denied you," he said. "Before you isComrade Windsor, the Wyoming cracker-jack. He is our editor. Imyself--I am Psmith--though but a subordinate, may also claim thetitle in a measure. Technically, I am but a sub-editor; but such isthe mutual esteem in which Comrade Windsor and I hold each otherthat we may practically be said to be inseparable. We have nosecrets from each other. You may address us both impartially. Willyou sit for a space?"
He pushed a chair towards the visitor, who seated himself with thecare inspired by a perfect trouser-crease. There was a momentarysilence while he selected a spot on the table on which to place hishat.
"The style of the paper has changed greatly, has it not, during thepast few weeks?" he said. "I have never been, shall I say, aconstant reader of _Cosy Moments_, and I may be wrong. But is not itsinterest in current affairs a recent development?"
"You are very right," responded Psmith. "Comrade Windsor, a man ofalert and restless temperament, felt that a change was essential if_Cosy Moments_ was to lead public thought. Comrade Wilberfloss'smethods were good in their way. I have no quarrel with ComradeWilberfloss. But he did not lead public thought. He cateredexclusively for children with water on the brain, and men and womenwith solid ivory skulls. Comrade Windsor, with a broader view,feels that there are other and larger publics. He refuses tocontent himself with ladling out a weekly dole of mentalpredigested breakfast food. He provides meat. He--"
"Then--excuse me--" said Mr. Parker, turning to Billy, "You, I t
akeit, are responsible for this very vigorous attack on thetenement-house owners?"
"You can take it I am," said Billy.
Psmith interposed.
"We are both responsible, Comrade Parker. If any husky guy, as Ifancy Master Maloney would phrase it, is anxious to aim a swiftkick at the man behind those articles, he must distribute it evenlybetween Comrade Windsor and myself."
"I see." Mr. Parker paused. "They are--er--very outspokenarticles," he added.
"Warm stuff," agreed Psmith. "Distinctly warm stuff."
"May I speak frankly?" said Mr. Parker.
"Assuredly, Comrade Parker. There must be no secrets, no restraintbetween us. We would not have you go away and say to yourself, 'DidI make my meaning clear? Was I too elusive?' Say on."
"I am speaking in your best interests."
"Who would doubt it, Comrade Parker. Nothing has buoyed us up morestrongly during the hours of doubt through which we have passedthan the knowledge that you wish us well."
Billy Windsor suddenly became militant. There was a felinesmoothness about the visitor which had been jarring upon him eversince he first spoke. Billy was of the plains, the home of bluntspeech, where you looked your man in the eye and said it quick. Mr.Parker was too bland for human consumption. He offended Billy'shonest soul.
"See here," cried he, leaning forward, "what's it all about? Let'shave it. If you've anything to say about those articles, say itright out. Never mind our best interests. We can look after them.Let's have what's worrying you."
Psmith waved a deprecating hand.
"Do not let us be abrupt on this happy occasion. To me it isenough simply to sit and chat with Comrade Parker, irrespective ofthe trend of his conversation. Still, as time is money, and this isour busy day, possibly it might be as well, sir, if you unburdenedyourself as soon as convenient. Have you come to point out someflaw in those articles? Do they fall short in any way of yourstandard for such work?"
Mr. Parker's smooth face did not change its expression, but he cameto the point.
"I should not go on with them if I were you," he said.
"Why?" demanded Billy.
"There are reasons why you should not," said Mr. Parker.
"And there are reasons why we should."
"Less powerful ones."
There proceeded from Billy a noise not describable in words. It waspartly a snort, partly a growl. It resembled more than anythingelse the preliminary sniffing snarl a bull-dog emits before hejoins battle. Billy's cow-boy blood was up. He was rapidlyapproaching the state of mind in which the men of the plains,finding speech unequal to the expression of their thoughts, reachfor their guns.
Psmith intervened.
"We do not completely gather your meaning, Comrade Parker. I fearwe must ask you to hand it to us with still more breezy frankness.Do you speak from purely friendly motives? Are you advising us todiscontinue the articles merely because you fear that they willdamage our literary reputation? Or are there other reasons why youfeel that they should cease? Do you speak solely as a literaryconnoisseur? Is it the style or the subject-matter of which youdisapprove?"
Mr. Parker leaned forward.
"The gentleman whom I represent--"
"Then this is no matter of your own personal taste? You are anemissary?"
"These articles are causing a certain inconvenience to thegentleman whom I represent. Or, rather, he feels that, ifcontinued, they may do so."
"You mean," broke in Billy explosively, "that if we kick up enoughfuss to make somebody start a commission to inquire into thisrotten business, your friend who owns the private Hades we'retrying to get improved, will have to get busy and lose some of hismoney by making the houses fit to live in? Is that it?"
"It is not so much the money, Mr. Windsor, though, of course, theexpense would be considerable. My employer is a wealthy man."
"I bet he is," said Billy disgustedly. "I've no doubt he makes amighty good pile out of Pleasant Street."
"It is not so much the money," repeated Mr. Parker, "as thepublicity involved. I speak quite frankly. There are reasons why myemployer would prefer not to come before the public just now as theowner of the Pleasant Street property. I need not go into thosereasons. It is sufficient to say that they are strong ones."
"Well, he knows what to do, I guess. The moment he starts in tomake those houses decent, the articles stop. It's up to him."
Psmith nodded.
"Comrade Windsor is correct. He has hit the mark and rung the bell.No conscientious judge would withhold from Comrade Windsor a cigaror a cocoanut, according as his private preference might dictate.That is the matter in a nutshell. Remove the reason for those veryscholarly articles, and they cease."
Mr. Parker shook his head.
"I fear that is not feasible. The expense of reconstructing thehouses makes that impossible."
"Then there's no use in talking," said Billy. "The articles willgo on."
Mr. Parker coughed. A tentative cough, suggesting that thesituation was now about to enter upon a more delicate phase. Billyand Psmith waited for him to begin. From their point of view thediscussion was over. If it was to be reopened on fresh lines, itwas for their visitor to effect that reopening.
"Now, I'm going to be frank, gentlemen," said he, as who shouldsay, "We are all friends here. Let us be hearty." "I'm going to putmy cards on the table, and see if we can't fix something up. Now,see here: We don't want unpleasantness. You aren't in this businessfor your healths, eh? You've got your living to make, just likeeverybody else, I guess. Well, see here. This is how it stands. Toa certain extant, I don't mind admitting, seeing that we're beingfrank with one another, you two gentlemen have got us--that's tosay, my employer--in a cleft stick. Frankly, those articles arebeginning to attract attention, and if they go on there's going tobe a lot of inconvenience for my employer. That's clear, I reckon.Well, now, here's a square proposition. How much do you want tostop those articles? That's straight. I've been frank with you,and I want you to be frank with me. What's your figure? Name it,and, if it's not too high, I guess we needn't quarrel."
He looked expectantly at Billy. Billy's eyes were bulging. Hestruggled for speech. He had got as far as "Say!" when Psmithinterrupted him. Psmith, gazing sadly at Mr. Parker through hismonocle, spoke quietly, with the restrained dignity of some oldRoman senator dealing with the enemies of the Republic.
"Comrade Parker," he said, "I fear that you have allowed constantcommunication with the conscienceless commercialism of this worldlycity to undermine your moral sense. It is useless to dangle richbribes before our eyes. _Cosy Moments_ cannot be muzzled. Youdoubtless mean well, according to your--if I may say so--somewhatmurky lights, but we are not for sale, except at ten cents weekly.From the hills of Maine to the Everglades of Florida, from SandyHook to San Francisco, from Portland, Oregon, to Melonsquashville,Tennessee, one sentence is in every man's mouth. And what is thatsentence? I give you three guesses. You give it up? It is this:'_Cosy Moments_ cannot be muzzled!'"
Mr. Parker rose.
"There's nothing more to be done then," he said.
"Nothing," agreed Psmith, "except to make a noise like a hoop androll away."
"And do it quick," yelled Billy, exploding like a fire-cracker.
Psmith bowed.
"Speed," he admitted, "would be no bad thing. Frankly--if I mayborrow the expression--your square proposition has wounded us. I ama man of powerful self-restraint, one of those strong, silent men,and I can curb my emotions. But I fear that Comrade Windsor'sgenerous temperament may at any moment prompt him to start throwingink-pots. And in Wyoming his deadly aim with the ink-pot won himamong the admiring cowboys the sobriquet of Crack-Shot Cuthbert. Asman to man, Comrade Parker, I should advise you to bound swiftlyaway."
"I'm going," said Mr. Parker, picking up his hat. "And I'll giveyou a piece of advice, too. Those articles are going to be stopped,and if you've any sense between you, you'll stop them yourselvesbefore you get hurt. That's all I've got to say, and tha
t goes."
He went out, closing the door behind him with a bang that addedemphasis to his words.
"To men of nicely poised nervous organisation such as ourselves,Comrade Windsor," said Psmith, smoothing his waistcoat thoughtfully,"these scenes are acutely painful. We wince before them. Ourganglions quiver like cinematographs. Gradually recovering commandof ourselves, we review the situation. Did our visitor's finalremarks convey anything definite to you? Were they the mere casualbadinage of a parting guest, or was there something solid behindthem?"
Billy Windsor was looking serious.
"I guess he meant it all right. He's evidently working for somebodypretty big, and that sort of man would have a pull with all kindsof Thugs. We shall have to watch out. Now that they find we can'tbe bought, they'll try the other way. They mean business sureenough. But, by George, let 'em! We're up against a big thing, andI'm going to see it through if they put every gang in New York onto us."
"Precisely, Comrade Windsor. _Cosy Moments_, as I have had occasionto observe before, cannot be muzzled."
"That's right," said Billy Windsor. "And," he added, with thecontented look the Far West editor must have worn as the bulletcame through the window, "we must have got them scared, or theywouldn't have shown their hand that way. I guess we're making ahit. _Cosy Moments_ is going some now."
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