The Prince and Betty Part 24

Mr. Martin Parker proved to be a man who might have been any age between thirty-five and forty-five. He had a dark face and a black mustache. As Pugsy had stated, in effect, he wore a morning coat, trousers with a crease which brought a smile of kindly approval to Smith's face, and patent-leather shoes of p.r.o.nounced shininess.

"I want to see the editor," he said.

"Will you take a seat?" said Smith.

He pushed a chair toward the visitor, who seated himself with the care inspired by a perfect trouser crease. There was a momentary silence while he selected a spot on the table on which to place his hat.

"I have come about a private matter," he said, looking meaningly at Betty, who got up and began to move toward the door. Smith nodded to her, and she went out.

"Say," said Mr. Parker, "hasn't something happened to this paper these last few weeks? It used not to take such an interest in things, used it?"

"You are very right," responded Smith. "Comrade Renshaw's methods were good in their way. I have no quarrel with Comrade Renshaw. But he did not lead public thought. He catered exclusively to children with water on the brain and men and women with solid ivory skulls. I feel that there are other and larger publics. I cannot content myself with ladling out a weekly dole of predigested mental breakfast food. I--"

"Then you, I guess," said Mr. Parker, "are responsible for this Broster Street thing?"

"At any rate, I approve of it and put it in the paper. If any husky guy, as Comrade Maloney would put it, is anxious to aim a swift kick at the author of that article, he can aim it at me."

"I see," said Mr. Parker. He paused. "It said 'Number one' in the paper. Does that mean there are going to be more of them?"

"There is no flaw in your reasoning. There are to be several more."

Mr. Parker looked at the door. It was closed. He bent forward.

"See here," he said, "I'm going to talk straight, if you'll let me."

"a.s.suredly, Comrade Parker. There must be no secrets, no restraint between us. I would not have you go away and say to yourself, 'Did I make my meaning clear? Was I too elusive?'"

Mr. Parker scratched the floor with the point of a gleaming shoe. He seemed to be searching for words.

"Say on," urged Smith. "Have you come to point out some flaw in that article? Does it fall short in any way of your standard for such work?"

Mr. Parker came to the point.

"If I were you," he said, "I should quit it. I shouldn't go on with those articles."

"Why?" enquired Smith.

"Because," said Mr. Parker.

He looked at Smith, and smiled slowly, an ingratiating smile. Smith did not respond.

"I do not completely gather your meaning," he said. "I fear I must ask you to hand it to me with still more breezy frankness. Do you speak from purely friendly motives? Are you advising me to discontinue the series because you fear that it will damage the literary reputation of the paper? Do you speak solely as a literary connoisseur? Or are there other reasons?"

Mr. Parker leaned forward.

"The gentleman whom I represent--"

"Then this is no matter of your own personal taste? There is another?"

"See here, I'm representing a gentleman who shall be nameless, and I've come on his behalf to tip you off to quit this game. These articles of yours are liable to cause him inconvenience."

"Financial? Do you mean that he may possibly have to spend some of his spare doubloons in making Broster Street fit to live in?"

"It's not so much the money. It's the publicity. There are reasons why he would prefer not to have it made too public that he's the owner of the tenements down there."

"Well, he knows what to do. If he makes Broster Street fit for a not-too-fastidious pig to live in--"

Mr. Parker coughed. A tentative cough, suggesting that the situation was now about to enter upon a more delicate phase.

"Now, see here, sir," he said, "I'm going to be frank. I'm going to put my cards on the table, and see if we can't fix something up. Now, see here. We don't want any unpleasantness. You aren't in this business for your health, eh? You've got your living to make, same as everybody else, I guess. Well, this is how it stands. To a certain extent, I don't mind owning, since we're being frank with one another, you've got us--that's to say, this gentleman I'm speaking of--in a cleft stick.

Frankly, that Broster Street story of yours has attracted attention--I saw it myself in two Sunday papers--and if there's going to be any more of them--Well, now, here's a square proposition. How much do you want to stop 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 you don't want the earth I guess we needn't quarrel."

He looked expectantly at Smith. Smith, gazing sadly at him through his monocle, spoke quietly, with the restrained dignity of some old Roman senator dealing with the enemies of the Republic.

"Comrade Parker," he said, "I fear that you have allowed your intercourse with this worldly city to undermine your moral sense. It is useless to dangle rich bribes before the editorial eyes. _Peaceful Moments_ cannot be muzzled. You doubtless mean well, according to your somewhat murky lights, but we are not for sale, except at fifteen cents weekly. From the hills of Maine to the Everglades of Florida, from Portland, Oregon, to Melonsquashville, Tennessee, one sentence is in every man's mouth. And what is that sentence? I give you three guesses. You give it up? It is this: '_Peaceful Moments_ cannot be muzzled!'"

Mr. Parker rose.

"Nothing doing, then?" he said.

"Nothing."

Mr. Parker picked up his hat.

"See here," he said, a grating note in his voice, hitherto smooth and conciliatory, "I've no time to fool away talking to you. I've given you your chance. Those stories are going to be stopped. And if you've any sense in you at all, you'll stop them yourself before you get hurt.

That's all I've got to say, and that goes."

He went out, closing the door behind him with a bang that added emphasis to his words.

"All very painful and disturbing," murmured Smith. "Comrade Brown!" he called.

Betty came in.

"Did our late visitor bite a piece out of you on his way out? He was in the mood to do something of the sort."

"He seemed angry," said Betty.

"He _was_ angry," said Smith. "Do you know what has happened, Comrade Brown? With your very first contribution to the paper you have hit the bull's-eye. You have done the state some service. Friend Parker came as the representative of the owner of those Broster Street houses.

He wanted to buy us off. We've got them scared, or he wouldn't have shown his hand with such refreshing candor. Have you any engagements at present?"

"I was just going out to lunch, if you could spare me."

"Not alone. This lunch is on the office. As editor of this journal I will entertain you, if you will allow me, to a magnificent banquet.

_Peaceful Moments_ is grateful to you. _Peaceful Moments,"_ he added, with the contented look the Far West editor must have worn as the bullet came through the window, "is, owing to you, going some now."

When they returned from lunch, and reentered the outer office, Pugsy Maloney, raising his eyes for a moment from his book, met them with the information that another caller had arrived and was waiting in the inner room.