CHAPTER XIII. A WARNING
In the spring list of Mr Jedwood's publications, announcement was
made of a new work by Alfred Yule. It was called 'English Prose
in the Nineteenth Century,' and consisted of a number of essays
(several of which had already seen the light in periodicals) strung into continuity. The final chapter dealt with contemporary writers, more especially those who served to illustrate the author's theme—that journalism is the destruction of prose style: on certain popular writers of the day there was an outpouring of gall which was not likely to be received as though it were sweet ointment. The book met with rather severe treatment in critical columns; it could scarcely be ignored (the safest mode of attack when one's author has no expectant public), and only the most skilful could write of it in a hostile spirit without betraying that some of its strokes had told. An evening newspaper which piqued itself on independence indulged in laughing appreciation of the polemical chapter, and the next day printed a scornful letter from a thinly-disguised correspondent who assailed both book and reviewer. For the moment people talked more of Alfred Yule than they had done since his memorable conflict with Clement Fadge.
The publisher had hoped for this. Mr Jedwood was an energetic and
sanguine man, who had entered upon his business with a
determination to rival in a year or so the houses which had
slowly risen into commanding stability. He had no great capital, but the stroke of fortune which had wedded him to a popular novelist enabled him to count on steady profit from one source, and boundless faith in his own judgment urged him to an initial outlay which made the prudent shake their heads. He talked much of 'the new era,' foresaw revolutions in publishing and book-selling, planned every week a score of untried ventures which should appeal to the democratic generation just maturing; in the meantime, was ready to publish anything which seemed likely to get talked about.
The May number of The Current, in its article headed 'Books of
the Month,' devoted about half a page to 'English Prose in the
Nineteenth Century.' This notice was a consummate example of the
flippant style of attack. Flippancy, the most hopeless form of
intellectual vice, was a characterising note of Mr Fadge's
periodical; his monthly comments on publications were already
looked for with eagerness by that growing class of readers who
care for nothing but what can be made matter of ridicule. The
hostility of other reviewers was awkward and ineffectual compared
with this venomous banter, which entertained by showing that in
the book under notice there was neither entertainment nor any
other kind of interest. To assail an author without increasing
the number of his readers is the perfection of journalistic
skill, and The Current, had it stood alone, would fully have
achieved this end. As it was, silence might have been better
tactics. But Mr Fadge knew that his enemy would smart under the
poisoned pin-points, and that was something gained.
On the day that The Current appeared, its treatment of Alfred
Yule was discussed in Mr Jedwood's private office. Mr Quarmby, who had intimate relations with the publisher, happened to look in just as a young man (one of Mr Jedwood's 'readers') was expressing a doubt whether Fadge himself was the author of the review.
'But there's Fadge's thumb-mark all down the page,' cried Mr
Quarmby.
'He inspired the thing, of course; but I rather think it was
written by that fellow Milvain.'
'Think so?' asked the publisher.
'Well, I know with certainty that the notice of Markland's novel
is his writing, and I have reasons for suspecting that he did
Yule's book as well.'
'Smart youngster, that,' remarked Mr Jedwood. 'Who is he, by-the-
bye?'
'Somebody's illegitimate son, I believe,' replied the source of
trustworthy information, with a laugh. 'Denham says he met him in
New York a year or two ago, under another name.