The Co-Citizens Part 11

This was Magnis Carter, and he refused to tell what he knew. He merely explained that he was preparing certain announcements for the _Signal_, which would of course include an advertis.e.m.e.nt of the new store. If anybody wanted to know what was going on, let them read the _Signal_. It always contained the news. He was tremendously puffed up. He was inclined to snub the curious. Lord save us! did anybody think he was going to give away his own scoop?

He was also silent about a certain transaction between him and Susan Walton.

Three days before the formal opening of the Cooperative Store, she surprised him at his editorial desk. This was a deal table in a corner of the printing office. It was littered with proof, scratch paper, scissors, mucilage, pencils, inkwells, and a case of "pie." He was engaged in sorting this. His collar and cravat hung upon a nail on the wall above the table. He was in his shirt sleeves. His hair was rumpled, his fingers inky.

But the first thing he thought of when he saw the old lady picking her way between bales of paper near the door of the office, was his socks.

The day was very warm, and he thought he remembered pulling them down to cool his legs. It was impossible to make sure. You cannot pull up your socks in the presence of a woman, even an old woman. Besides, she had her mouth primped severely and her eyes fixed with a soap-and-water expression upon him.

He leaped from his chair, showing a purple rim around each ankle and the bare skin above. He cast a despairing glance at his collar, and made a dive for his coat.

"Oh, good afternoon, Mrs. Walton! Excuse me," he exclaimed, thrusting his arms in the sleeves. "I was not expecting this honour, as you see!"

She advanced and deliberately seated herself in the chair he had vacated.

"Don't trouble to put on your coat, Mr. Carter. It's very warm in here,"

fanning herself. "I think we shall have to move the _Signal_ to the Woman's Building on the avenue. There is still the kitchen and pantry we could use--very large pantry--make an excellent private editorial office."

"I beg pardon, Madam, what did you say?"

He had forgotten his socks. His eyes protruded. She laughed--it was the triumph of mind over matter--that laugh, an old woman's cackle, he being the matter. He did not like it. He stood waiting for an explanation, seeing that she occupied the only chair. He felt that it would take a good deal to explain how and why she thought she could induce him to move the office of the _Signal_ into the kitchen of that female rat trap on the avenue.

She came immediately to the point, a thing you never do in business unless you are sure you have the drop on the other fellow.

"The Co-Citizens' Foundation Fund holds a mortgage on the _Signal_, Mr.

Carter?" She put this affirmative in the form of a question.

"Er--I believe there was a small mortgage held by the Mosely Estate," he admitted.

"And with the four years' interest due, I believe it covers the value of the property now, doesn't it?" She had taken out another pair of spectacles and adjusted them upon her upturned nose.

"About," he added, dazed.

"We shall be glad to retain your services. That is what I am here for this afternoon, to make arrangements with you, if possible."

Carter raised his hand, scratched his chin through his beard, squinted one eye, and took sight along the barrel of his personal interest at Susan.

"We are prepared to bear all the expense of publication and offer you a salary of one hundred dollars a month to conduct the paper; but of course we should expect to control the policy of it absolutely. We purpose to make it the organ of the Woman's Suffrage Movement here. I should myself dictate most of the editorials."

"You should, Madam?" he exclaimed.

"Yes."

"And where would I come in?"

"Oh, we should want you to do the work, get up advertis.e.m.e.nts, write special articles along such educational lines for the movement as we should suggest. You would 'come in' a great deal, Mr. Carter. You would be the busiest man in Jordantown."

"But, good Lord--beg pardon! You want me to become a woman suffragist, Madam--and I'm a man!"

"We should certainly require you to work for it. Suffrage for women is not a matter of s.e.x. It's a question of common justice."

"At what salary did you say?" he asked after a thoughtful pause.

"One hundred dollars a month, and we pay the expense of publication,"

she answered.

Carter had never cleared a dollar as editor of the _Signal_. He could not even have supported himself if he had paid the interest on his mortgage. Still he hesitated. He was not sure that this offer did not mean the sale of his manhood, on the installment plan, at so much a month. He wondered what the men would think of this arrangement. His wit in the paper had long consisted in humorous comments upon the modern woman, and the Suffrage Movement in particular.

"Give me time to think it over," he said.

"Until to-morrow morning," she said, rising. "In case you accept the position we shall expect you at nine o'clock. There is some advertising stuff for the next issue, and I shall want to dictate an editorial."

"And if I do not accept?" he put in as she advanced toward the door.

"In that case we shall take charge of the _Signal_ as soon as we can foreclose the mortgage," she answered without looking back.

"Er--good afternoon, Mrs. Walton!" he suddenly called after her.

"Good afternoon. Remember, promptly at nine o'clock!" she returned, still without looking back.

Carter sat for an hour after her departure scratching his chin. He crossed his legs, shook his elevated foot, showed every sign of profound concentration. He was making up his mind to become a decimal point in the Woman Suffrage Movement. It was like making up his mind to be born again, and not so well born at that!

But "promptly at nine o'clock" the following morning he appeared at Susan's office in the Woman's Building, accepted the nominal editorship of the _Signal_, and submitted to the indignity of taking down the editorial which she dictated.

On Sat.u.r.day the _Signal_ appeared. It was a wonder. The entire front page was taken up with an advertis.e.m.e.nt of the Women's Cooperative Store. The quality of everything was the best. The prices quoted were far below what they had ever been before in Jordantown.

But that which paralyzed the whole male population in the square was this announcement at the top of the editorial page:

_Owned and Controlled_ _By the Co-Citizens' Foundation._ _Susan Walton,_ _Managing Editor._ _Magnis Carter,_ _a.s.sistant Editor._ _Price $1.00 a year._ _Advertising rates reduced one half to all women and to friends of the Suffrage Movement in Jordan County._

This was bad enough, but the crowning affront was the leading editorial.

"The _Signal_ has become the property of the Co-Citizens' Foundation Fund, bequeathed by the late Sarah Hayden Mosely for the purpose of obtaining suffrage for women in Jordan County," was the opening sentence. "Henceforth the paper will be published in the interest of the Suffrage Movement and in any other interests which do not conflict directly or indirectly with this movement. No matter containing adverse criticism of suffrage for women will be published. And no advertis.e.m.e.nts from any source not known to be friendly to the movement will be accepted. For this reason all those which have not been paid for in advance have been excluded. Business men who desire the use of our columns for advertising should call at the office of the _Signal_ at their earliest convenience, to give a.s.surance of their support of the policy of this paper in order that they may still use its columns as an advertising medium."

The paragraph which followed stated brazenly that the majority of the citizens of Jordan County were heartily in favour of suffrage for women, and that they were determined no longer to endure "taxation without representation," and so forth and so on. There was no hysterical railing about the partialities of men for men in the administering of law and the interpretation of the rights of citizenship.

The astonished readers understood for the first time, however, that Jordantown and Jordan County were in the grip of something stronger than feminine sentimentality or even the Democratic party.

The office of the _Signal_ had actually been moved to the Woman's Building. The transit took place some time during the night. No one knew when. Carter came and went through a side entrance formerly used by delivery wagons when they brought Sarah Mosely her meagre household supplies. He remained in seclusion there, as modest as a girl, and only Susan Walton knew with what diligence he laboured. No man dared to seek him in the seclusion of that place. And when Mike Prim called him over the 'phone, after the first issue of the _Signal_ under the new management, demanding that he should come to his office at once, Carter declined to obey the summons. This was incredible. For years he had been the henchman of Prim. He had received from time to time modest sums for publishing copy prepared under Prim's supervision and designed to influence public opinion in proper Prim channels.

However, late one night when Carter slipped into the quiet side street with a roll of proof under his arm, he walked not exactly into the arms of Mike Prim, who was standing in the shadows just outside, but it would be more exact to say that he slipped directly in vocative range of Mike's rage.

"Look here, Carter, what the ---- do you mean by selling the _Signal_ to these blankety-blank-blank women?" he exclaimed as the editor started back astonished and for the moment disconcerted.

"Didn't. The Mosely Estate owned a mortgage covering the paper; you know that!" he answered quickly.

"And _you_ know the _Signal_ was the official organ of our party. And you've betrayed like----"

"Stop!" hissed Carter, lifting his roll of proof over Prim's head as if it had been a policeman's billy. "Don't you insult me, Mike! I don't have to take any more of your d.a.m.n impudence and I won't!"