CHAPTER XII
"PEACEFUL MOMENTS"
The man in the street did not appear to know it, but a great crisis wasimminent in New York journalism.
Everything seemed much as usual in the city. The cars ran blithely onBroadway. Newsboys shouted their mystic slogan, "Wuxtry!" withundiminished vim. Society thronged Fifth Avenue without a furrow on itsbrow. At a thousand street corners a thousand policemen preserved theirair of massive superiority to the things of this world. Of all the fourmillion not one showed the least sign of perturbation.
Nevertheless, the crisis was at hand. Mr. J. Brabazon Renshaw,Editor-in-chief of _Peaceful Moments_, was about to leave his postand start on a three-months' vacation.
_Peaceful Moments_, as its name (an inspiration of Mr. Renshaw'sown) was designed to imply, was a journal of the home. It was the sortof paper which the father of the family is expected to take back withhim from the office and read aloud to the chicks before bedtime underthe shade of the rubber plant.
Circumstances had left the development of the paper almost entirely toMr. Renshaw. Its contents were varied. There was a "Moments in theNursery" page, conducted by Luella Granville Waterman and devotedmainly to anecdotes of the family canary, by Jane (aged six), andsimilar works of the younger set. There was a "Moments of Meditation"page, conducted by the Reverend Edwin T. Philpotts; a "Moments amongthe Masters" page, consisting of assorted chunks looted from theliterature of the past, when foreheads were bulged and thoughtsprofound, by Mr. Renshaw himself; one or two other special pages; ashort story; answers to correspondents on domestic matters; and a"Moments of Mirth" page, conducted by one B. Henderson Asher--a verypainful affair.
The proprietor of this admirable journal was that Napoleon of finance,Mr. Benjamin Scobell.
That this should have been so is but one proof of the many-sidedness ofthat great man.
Mr. Scobell had founded _Peaceful Moments_ at an early stage inhis career, and it was only at very rare intervals nowadays that herecollected that he still owned it. He had so many irons in the firenow that he had no time to waste his brain tissues thinking about apaper like _Peaceful Moments_. It was one of his failures. Itcertainly paid its way and brought him a small sum each year, but tohim it was a failure, a bombshell that had fizzled.
He had intended to do big things with _Peaceful Moments_. He hadmeant to start a new epoch in the literature of Manhattan.
"I gottan idea," he had said to Miss Scobell. "All this yellowjournalism--red blood and all that--folks are tired of it. They wantsomething milder. Wholesome, see what I mean? There's money in it. Guysmake a roll too big to lift by selling soft drinks, don't they? Well,I'm going to run a soft-drink paper. See?"
The enterprise had started well. To begin with, he had found the idealeditor. He had met Mr. Renshaw at a down-East gathering presided overby Mrs. Oakley, and his Napoleonic eye had seen in J. Brabazon theseeds of domestic greatness. Before they parted, he had come to termswith him. Nor had the latter failed to justify his intuition. He madean admirable editor. It was not Mr. Renshaw's fault that the new paperhad failed to electrify America. It was the public on whom theresponsibility for the failure must be laid. They spoiled the wholething. Certain of the faithful subscribed, it is true, and continued tosubscribe, but the great heart of the public remained untouched. Thegreat heart of the public declined to be interested in the meditationsof Mr. Philpotts and the humor of Mr. B. Henderson Asher, and continuedto spend its money along the bad old channels. The thing began to boreMr. Scobell. He left the conduct of the journal more and more to Mr.Renshaw, until finally--it was just after the idea for extracting goldfrom sea water had struck him--he put the whole business definitely outof his mind. (His actual words were that he never wanted to see or hearof the darned thing again, inasmuch as it gave him a pain in the neck.)Mr. Renshaw was given a free hand as to the editing, and all matters offinance connected with the enterprise were placed in the hands of Mr.Scobell's solicitors, who had instructions to sell the journal, if, asits owner crisply put it, they could find any chump who was enough of adarned chump to give real money for it. Up to the present the greatarmy of chumps had fallen short of this ideal standard of darnedchumphood.
Ever since this parting of the ways, Mr. Renshaw had been in hiselement. Under his guidance _Peaceful Moments_ had reached a levelof domesticity which made other so-called domestic journals look likesporting supplements. But at last the work had told upon him. Whetherit was the effort of digging into the literature of the past everyweek, or the strain of reading B. Henderson Asher's "Moments of Mirth"is uncertain. At any rate, his labors had ended in wrecking his healthto such an extent that the doctor had ordered him three months'complete rest, in the woods or mountains, whichever he preferred; and,being a farseeing man, who went to the root of things, had absolutelydeclined to consent to Mr. Renshaw's suggestion that he keep in touchwith the paper during his vacation. He was adamant. He had seen copiesof _Peaceful Moments_ once or twice, and refused to permit a manin Mr. Renshaw's state of health to come in contact with LuellaGranville Waterman's "Moments in the Nursery" and B. Henderson Asher's"Moments of Mirth."
"You must forget that such a paper exists," he said. "You must dismissthe whole thing from your mind, live in the open, and develop someflesh and muscle."
Mr. Renshaw had bowed before the sentence, howbeit gloomily, and now,on the morning of Betty's departure from Mrs. Oakley's house with theletter of introduction, was giving his final instructions to histemporary successor.
This temporary successor in the editorship was none other than John'sfriend, Rupert Smith, late of the _News_.
Smith, on leaving Harvard, had been attracted by newspaper work, andhad found his first billet on a Western journal of the type whosesociety column consists of such items as "Jim Thompson was to townyesterday with a bunch of other cheap skates. We take this opportunityof once more informing Jim that he is a liar and a skunk," and whoseeditor works with a pistol on his desk and another in his hip-pocket.Graduating from this, he had proceeded to a reporter's post on a dailypaper in Kentucky, where there were blood feuds and other Southerndevices for preventing life from becoming dull. All this was good, buteven while he enjoyed these experiences, New York, the magnet, had beentugging at him, and at last, after two eventful years on the Kentuckypaper, he had come East, and eventually won through to the staff of the_News_.
His presence in the office of _Peaceful Moments_ was due to theuncomfortable habit of most of the New York daily papers of cuttingdown their staff of reporters during the summer. The dismissed had, tosustain them, the knowledge that they would return, like the swallows,anon, and be received back into their old places; but in the meantimethey suffered the inconvenience of having to support themselves as bestthey could. Smith, when, in the company of half-a-dozen others, he hadhad to leave the _News_, had heard of the vacant post of assistanteditor on _Peaceful Moments_, and had applied for and received it.Whereby he was more fortunate than some of his late colleagues; though,as the character of his new work unrolled itself before him, he wasfrequently doubtful on that point. For the atmosphere of _PeacefulMoments_, however wholesome, was certainly not exciting, and hishappened to be essentially a nature that needed the stimulus ofexcitement. Even in Park Row, the denizens of which street are rarelyslaves to the conventional and safe, he had a well-establishedreputation in this matter. Others of his acquaintances welcomedexcitement when it came to them in the course of the day's work, but itwas Smith's practise to go in search of it. He was a young man ofspirit and resource.
His appearance, to those who did not know him, hardly suggested this.He was very tall and thin, with a dark, solemn face. He was a purist inthe matter of clothes, and even in times of storm and stress presentedan immaculate appearance to the world. In his left eye, attached to acord, he wore a monocle.
Through this, at the present moment, he was gazing benevolently at Mr.Renshaw, as the latter fussed about the office in the throes ofdeparture. To the editor's rapid fire of
advice and warning he listenedwith the pleased and indulgent air of a father whose infant son frisksbefore him. Mr. Renshaw interested him. To Smith's mind Mr. Renshaw,put him in any show you pleased, would alone have been worth the priceof admission.
"Well," chirruped the holiday-maker--he was a little man with a longneck, and he always chirruped--"Well, I think that is all, Mr. Smith.Oh, ah, yes! The stenographer. You will need a new stenographer."
The _Peaceful Moments_ stenographer had resigned her positionthree days before, in order to get married.
"Unquestionably, Comrade Renshaw," said Smith. "A blonde."
Mr. Renshaw looked annoyed.
"I have told you before, Mr. Smith, I object to your addressing me asComrade. It is not--it is not--er--fitting."
Smith waved a deprecating hand.
"Say no more," he said. "I will correct the habit. I have been studyingthe principles of Socialism somewhat deeply of late, and I came to theconclusion that I must join the cause. It looked good to me. You workfor the equal distribution of property, and start in by swiping all youcan and sitting on it. A noble scheme. Me for it. But I am interruptingyou."
Mr. Renshaw had to pause for a moment to reorganize his ideas.
"I think--ah, yes. I think it would be best perhaps to wait for a dayor two in case Mrs. Oakley should recommend someone. I mentioned thevacancy in the office to her, and she said she would give the matterher attention. I should prefer, if possible, to give the place to hernominee. She--"
"--has eighteen million a year," said Smith. "I understand. Scatterseeds of kindness."
Mr. Renshaw looked at him sharply. Smith's face was solemn andthoughtful.
"Nothing of the kind," the editor said, after a pause. "I should preferMrs. Oakley's nominee because Mrs. Oakley is a shrewd, practical womanwho--er--who--who, in fact--"
"Just so," said Smith, eying him gravely through the monocle."Entirely."
The scrutiny irritated Mr. Renshaw.
"Do put that thing away, Mr. Smith," he said.
"That thing?"
"Yes, that ridiculous glass. Put it away."
"Instantly," said Smith, replacing the monocle in his vest-pocket. "Youobject to it? Well, well, many people do. We all have these curiouslikes and dislikes. It is these clashings of personal taste whichconstitute what we call life. Yes. You were saying?"
Mr. Renshaw wrinkled his forehead.
"I have forgotten what I intended to say," he said querulously. "Youhave driven it out of my head."
Smith clicked his tongue sympathetically. Mr. Renshaw looked at hiswatch.
"Dear me," he said, "I must be going. I shall miss my train. But Ithink I have covered the ground quite thoroughly. You understandeverything?"
"Absolutely," said Smith. "I look on myself as some engineercontrolling a machine with a light hand on the throttle. Or like somefaithful hound whose master--"
"Ah! There is just one thing. Mrs. Julia Burdett Parslow is a littleinclined to be unpunctual with her 'Moments with Budding Girlhood.' Ifthis should happen while I am away, just write her a letter, quite apleasant letter, you understand, pointing out the necessity of being ingood time. She must realize that we are a machine."
"Exactly," murmured Smith.
"The machinery of the paper cannot run smoothly unless contributors arein good time with their copy."
"Precisely," said Smith. "They are the janitors of the literary world.Let them turn off the steam heat, and where are we? If Mrs. JuliaBurdett Parslow is not up to time with the hot air, how shall our'Girlhood' escape being nipped in the bud?"
"And there is just one other thing. I wish you would correct a slighttendency I have noticed lately in Mr. Asher to be just a trifle--well,not precisely risky, but perhaps a shade broad in his humor."
"Young blood!" sighed Smith. "Young blood!"
"Mr. Asher is a very sensible man, and he will understand. Well, thatis all, I think. Now, I really must be going. Good-by, Mr. Smith."
"Good-by."
At the door Mr. Renshaw paused with the air of an exile biddingfarewell to his native land, sighed and trotted out.
Smith put his feet upon the table, flicked a speck of dust from hiscoat-sleeve, and resumed his task of reading the proofs of LuellaGranville Waterman's "Moments in the Nursery."
* * * * *
He had not been working long, when Pugsy Maloney, the office boy,entered.
"Say!" said Pugsy.
"Say on, Comrade Maloney."
"Dere's a loidy out dere wit a letter for Mr. Renshaw."
"Have you acquainted her with the fact that Mr. Renshaw has passed toother climes?"
"Huh?"
"Have you, in the course of your conversation with this lady, mentionedthat Mr. Renshaw has beaten it?"
"Sure, I did. And she says can she see you?"
Smith removed his feet from the table.
"Certainly," he said. "Who am I that I should deny people these littletreats? Ask her to come in, Comrade Maloney."
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