In the morning, he dreaded to open his newspaper, but when he had read through the story twice, he conceded that it wasn’t half as yellow as he feared. No, it was really rather conservative, and the photograph of him wasn’t printed at all; he read, with grim satisfaction, that another culprit, somewhat more impetuous, had smashed the camera, and attempted to stage a revival of his success upon the photographer.
He had been fully prepared to find himself singled out for publicity, and he was greatly relieved. To be sure, there was a somewhat flippant mention of his relationship to Mirabelle, but it wasn’t over-emphasized, and altogether, he had no justification for resentment––that is, at the Herald. The Herald had merely printed the news; what Henry resented was the fact.
He turned to the editorial page and found, as he had imagined, a solid column of opinion; but to his amazement, it made no protest of yesterday’s event––on the contrary, it echoed Judge Barklay. It said half a dozen times, in half a dozen different ways, that a bad law ought to be repealed, a good law ought to be preserved, and that all laws, good or bad, as long as they were written on the books, ought to be enforced. Henry was mystified; for the Herald had always professed to be in utter sympathy with the workingman.
Later in the day, however, he saw the leading exhibitor in town, who winked at him. “Clever stuff, Devereux, clever stuff. ’Course, if we put up a roar, they’ll say it’s because we’ve got an ax to grind. Sure we have. But the Herald wants the people––the people that come to our shows––to get up and blat. Then it wouldn’t be the League against the Association––it’d be the people against the League, and the laugh’d be on the other foot.”
“What’s the betting?”
“Search me. But Mayor Rowland told me if 150 we got up a monster petition with a thousand or two names on it, he’ll bring it up to the Council. We’re puttin’ up posters in the lobby.”
Henry’s heart jumped. “But suppose the people don’t sign?”
“Well then we’d be out o’ luck. But there’s other ways o’ goin’ at that damn League, and we’re goin’ to use all of ’em. And that reminds me, Devereux––ain’t it about time for you to join the Association?”
“I’m afraid not. I ought to, but––you see, you’re going to make things as hot as you can for the League––personalities, and all that, and when my aunt is president of it––”