RAZEE, business manager of the Morgantown Sun, entered the office of the paper's editor and owner, a frown on his face and in his hand a letter.
“Well, Chief,” he said gloomily, “they've went and gone and done it! Look at this!”
He smoothed the letter flat upon the editor's desk, and the latter read it swiftly. Minot must have been a good poker-player had he ever taken up that game. Not a trace of emotion, save possibly quizzical good humor, was in his voice as he spoke to Frazee.
“Well?”
Frazee merely stared, an admiration that he could not conceal in his snappy eyes. As if the admiration slightly embarrassed him, Minot turned his head back toward the litter of copy-paper and proofs before him.
“I'm awfully busy, Jack,” said the editor. “And if”
Frazee exploded.
“Busy! You aren't too busy to take notice of a letter from the Morgantown Merchants' Mutual Association, are you? A letter in which they inform the Sun's business office that until the news and editorial policy of the Sun undergoes a radical change the members of the Association can no longer consider it good business to use our columns for advertising! You ain't too busy
“Why, Chief, that's the last straw! We've lost the public printing; the city advertising went five months ago along with the printing. The traction company left us out of all their advertising of the new park at their terminal; the gas company quit us six weeks ago; the electric light and power company has given notice that they'll not renew their annual contract at its expiration next week! All those were bad enough; but if the retail merchants tie a can to us—Chief, we're out on a limb and they're down below with dogs and guns. It's about our cue to climb down!”
Minot drummed on his desk a moment before making reply. When he did speak his voice was calm, inflexible, as determined as on that day to which his words referred.
“Jack,” he said, “when I bought this paper six months ago and brought you with me from New York to help me run it, what did I say to you?”
“You said that you'd been a boy in Morgantown; that it had always been your ambition to run a paper here. An honest paper! That Morgantown had as rotten a political and business machine as Minneapolis or Philadelphia in the good old days, and that you were going to smash it; that you were going to run an honest paper—not a commercially honest paper, but an ethically honest paper.”
“You sum it up better than I could myself, Jack,” smiled Minot. “Well, have I ever done anything to make you think I'd go back on my word?”
“No, but”
“Then why do you expect me to now?”
Frazee hit the desk with a clenched fist.
“Because you invested fifty thousand dollars your uncle had left you for the benefit of people that aren't worth it! You came to Morgantown to lift the people here out of their sloth! To be an expression of the better opinion of the city! You told me that Morgantown people stood for rottenness and corruption because there was no one to lead a fight for better things.
“You bought this sheet for twenty thousand dollars. You said you'd spend the rest of your inheritance to awaken the people to civic decency. And they haven't responded to you. You've pointed out rottenness; you've shown how cleanness may be achieved. And what happens? First the big corporations shut down on their advertising and now the retail merchants tie a can to you. Tom, you've got about five thousand left. Are you going to sink that for the benefit of a lot of ungrateful, unappreciative”
“How do you know that?” snapped Minot.
“Know what?”
“What you said—about the people being unappreciative and ungrateful?”
“Good Lord! doesn't this letter prove that?”
“The retail merchants aren't the people—only a small portion of them,” said Minot. “The people—Jack, it's true I've alienated advertising, but I've gained subscribers.”
“And you can't run a daily newspaper on subscriptions,” said Frazee. “Look here, Tom, you've fought a good fight—against odds. You're down practically to a shoe-string. Another month or so and you'll have to mortgage the plant; then you won't meet the interest, and”
“Then you advise me to quit fighting the rotten ring?”
“I advise you not to commit suicide,” said Frazee.
“Suicide, eh?” Minot smiled faintly. “Suicide? Well, Jack, if fighting the good fight means suicide—then suicide it is! I understand that the Bugle has made you a good offer to go over there. No use sticking to a sinking ship, Jack. I'll release you from your contract, and”