I did so, and the newspaper man—who, I think, was an American by birth—made notes.
Then, before the solicitor could intervene, Martin Lorimer, drawing down his bushy eyebrows, said, in the unaccented English he used when in a deliberately dangerous mood, “You have given out a false impression of an honest man’s character. Now you’re going to publish a true one, with a full apology, or we intend to make you suffer. There is law in Canada, I suppose; and if it costs me sufficient to buy up three papers, we’ll carry the case on until we get our damages or smash you. Understand, I’m for liberty of the press, and in my young days I helped to fight for it; but this is libel; and I think you know my friend yonder.”
“I guess I do,” said the other. “One of the smartest lawyers in the West. Oh, yes, I know him! See here, we’re not great on libel actions in this country. It’s mighty hard to get damages for that; and we like our news tasty. No, all things considered, you would make nothing of it if you did sue me. Why,”—and he smiled on the old man, who looked as if he were eager to assault him—“lots of the boys would take that kind of paragraph as a compliment. It 296 would tickle their vanity. We admit the raciness—we are proud of it; but we stand for fair play too. Would you mind telling me what you expect to do?”
“It doesn’t appeal to my client,” said the solicitor. “He has, as you would put it, British prejudices. I don’t intend to display all our program, but it includes a visit to your rivals and the men who finance you. Still, though you sometimes lay the paint on too thick, I have hitherto found you well-informed and square; and we should rather you did the right thing of your own accord.”
The man, I thought, looked honest, and with a shrewd smile he said, “Now you’re talking the right talk. This paper casts its egis over the innocent. It’s the friend of the oppressed, besides all the other good things set down in the New Year’s article. But I shouldn’t like those other fellows to get hold of that story before we’ve done with it. The citizens are interested, and we haven’t your superstitious fear of commenting on cases sub judice. No, sir, we’re afraid of nothing, and don’t let British capitalists walk over us with nails in their boots. Now I’m going to make reparation and tell that tale in style, showing up all your client’s fine qualities. Want to revise the item? You couldn’t do it for ten thousand dollars. We’re ’way beyond dictation, and pride ourselves on knowing how our readers like their news.”
At a hint from the solicitor I contented myself with a more definite promise to do me justice. Then as we left the office, Martin Lorimer turned to the editor.
“Keep a hand on your imagination,” he said grimly, “or you’ll see me here again.”
“Always glad to meet an interesting Britisher,” the man of the pen answered with cheerfulness. “Come in peace, and we’ll regale you on our special cigars; otherwise, my assistant will stand by with the politicians’ club.” 297
“And that’s the creature who libeled us!” said Martin Lorimer when we reached the street. “I’ve a good mind to go back and show him whether I’m an interesting Britisher—confound him!” whereupon the lawyer laughed heartily.
“They’re not all like him,” he said. “This particular journal depends on its raciness, and he has to maintain the character. After all, he is an honest man, and he’ll do you justice, though the item may contain specimens of what passes for local humor.”