“I’m inclined to think you are right, old man, in a certain sense,” he said at last. “As a special correspondent, you have reached the summit—you can’t go any higher because there is no higher place to go to. But that doesn’t mean you are going to give up fighting for the things you believe in. You have a following—I don’t think you realize how large it is; and right now is the time for you to strike out for something bigger.”
“Such as what?” asked Selden sceptically.
“I haven’t thought it out—but what I see at this moment is a great liberal weekly, with you as editor-in-chief and the strongest kind of a staff—the kind you could get together better than any other man I know. I have thought for a long time that the day of the literary monthly—the Scribner, Harper, Century type—is about over, and that the time is ripe for the liberal weekly, dealing in a large way with world affairs and social progress and politics—and art and literature too, of course. I know there are already three or four, but they are all handicapped by some sort of mental bias or astigmatism or spiritual dyspepsia. Now is the time for the real thing. And you are the man to start it.”
Selden laughed a little bitterly.
“I didn’t know you were such a dreamer, Scott!”
“It isn’t a dream.”
“Yes, it is. Apart from all question of myself, where is the money to come from? You don’t imagine it would be self-supporting?”
“Of course not—not for a long time. It must have financial backing—the right sort—strong enough to make it independent in every way.”
“But how can a liberal paper hope to get financial backing? How can any paper get financial backing without mortgaging its opinions? It can’t be done.”
“Yes, it can,” said Scott. “At least, I believe it can. There must be one disinterested millionaire somewhere in the world! I’ll take a look for him. Meanwhile, there is another thing you want to do: get married—to the right woman.”