He had not been in charge of the Banner long before he realized that the local news was the most important thing in the paper to the people of Cleverly. Accordingly he bent all of his energies to the improvement of that department. He pressed the postmaster into his service. He induced some of the young men of the town to contribute, and as a result there was not a wedding, a birth or a funeral that was not fully reported in the Banner. He laid great stress on personal items, taking the ground that a pleasant reference to anyone not only interested the person mentioned, but also their relatives and friends as well as the people of the town. If a church raised its mortgage, or a citizen put an addition to his house, or the school gave an entertainment it was sure to be found in the local columns. It was not surprising, therefore, that the subscribers looked forward with eagerness for their paper and complained bitterly if, by chance, they failed to receive it.
Herbert avoided rumors and scandals with scrupulous care. He made up his mind that as long as he was at the helm such things would not find their way into the weekly. He remembered, with bitterness, the stories that had been circulated about his father, and while they had been well nigh forgotten by the people of the town, they were still treasured up in a corner of his memory. He frequently talked with his mother, and although she gave him no encouragement, persisted in a determination to clear his father’s name.
“There was some strange mystery connected with father’s last day,” he said, “and I will never rest entirely happy until it has been fully cleared. I believe the suggestion that he stole that money was a base calumny, but I will not be content until the world is convinced that he was innocent.”
His face would darken at this, and he would add:
“And when his innocence is proved the guilt of someone else will be established, and that person, whoever it may be, need expect no mercy from me.”
One day when he had been talking in this strain his mother said:
“Herbert, I want you to drop this sort of thing. You are on the verge of man’s estate and you should look forward and not backward. I feel the blot on your father’s good name quite as keenly as you do, but I would be most unhappy if I thought you would permit it to embitter your life. This is a busy world, and the people in it—men and women—have little time for the person who is nursing a grievance.”
“You mean well, mother,” replied the young journalist, “but you do not realize the feeling I have. It is not a feeling of bitterness; it is not a grievance; it is a desire—a desire that will not be quenched—for justice. No matter where I go or what I may do, this desire remains with me, and some day it shall be gratified.”
She stroked his hands fondly and looked at him with undisguised admiration.
“While you live your father will never die—you resemble him in more ways than one. Go ahead and carry out your own designs. I am content to have you do as you will.”