When a man arrives who seems at all likely to have a Revelation in his pocket, and who offers it for sale, remember that you have but a few moments in which to make up your mind; put him into the little room next to the sub-editor, take his MS., tell him you will show it to your chief, and, as you leave him, lock the door softly on the outside.
The next moment may decide your whole career. You must glance at the Revelation, and judge in that glance whether the public will believe it even for two full hours. The whole difference between a successful and an unsuccessful journalist lies in that power of sudden vision; nor will experience alone achieve it, it must be experience touched with something like genius.
Libellous matter you can delete. Matter merely false will not be remembered against you; but if that rare and subtle character which convinces the mob be lacking, that is a thing which no one can supply in the time between the Revelator’s arrival and the paper’s going to press.
Finally, when you have made your decision, return, unlock, pay, and dismiss. Never pay by cheque. Remember how short is the time at your disposal. Remember that if your paper does not print a really good Revelation when it is offered, some other paper will. Remember the Times, the Chronicle, and Major Esterhazy. Remember Mr. Gladstone’s resignation.
... Remember the “Maine.”
A few practical instances will help us to understand these abstract rules.
Consider, for instance, the following—one of the wisest acts of Dr. Caliban’s whole life.
Dr. Caliban was busy writing a leader for the Sunday Englishman upon “Hell or Immortality”; for it was Saturday night, he had just received the weekly papers, and, as he well said, “A strong Sunday paper has this advantage, that it can do what it likes with the weeklies.”
He was, I say in the midst of Hell or Immortality, when he was interrupted by a note. He opened it, read it, frowned, and passed it to me, saying:—
“What do you make of this?”