The majority agreed that Jack would make a better editor but there were some who opposed this choice, not openly but in a sneering, underhand way that was harder to combat than if they had put on an attitude of bold defiance.
“You don’t want a mere clerk for an editor,” said Peter Herring to a number of his cronies. “If we did we could hire a six-dollar-a-week typewriter girl to do the work. Any one can work a machine with a little practice but it takes brains to run a high-class magazine like ours.”
“How much do you contribute to it, Pete?” asked Merritt, with a half laugh.
“Well, I contribute to the expense of the publication and I am not going to have my money wasted,” retorted the other angrily.
“So do all the boys contribute. You don’t have to pat yourself on the back for that.”
“Well, do you want this upstart to be editor?” snarled Herring, annoyed at these interruptions and yet not wishing to pick a quarrel with one who was useful to him at times.
“No, of course I don’t but you don’t need to make a fool of yourself for all that. You are no better than the rest of us.”
“I don’t say I am and I don’t make a fool of myself. What is the matter with you anyhow?”
“Never mind bickering, you two,” said one of the group. “What we want to get at is to keep Sheldon out of the paper, isn’t it?”
“Of course!” said all the rest.