The Camera ’Chap stared at him in astonishment. “You?” he cried half incredulously.
“Exactly,” chuckled Carroll. “I suppose it looks queer to you to see the proprietor of the sheet holding down the job of city editor, but I am only filling this chair during the absence of its regular occupant. My city editor is laid up with an attack of inflammatory rheumatism, so I undertook to do his work.”
Still Hawley appeared incredulous. Two years before, Fred Carroll had been earning thirty dollars a week as a reporter on the New York Sentinel, and the Camera Chap recalled that he had always been notoriously hard up in those days. Where on earth could he have got hold of enough money to buy a newspaper?
As though reading his thoughts, Carroll said, with a laugh: “I suppose you’re wondering how I managed to raise the necessary dough to acquire this progressive, aggressive, and fearlessly independent sheet? No need to tell you that I didn’t save it out of the measly wages the Sentinel paid me. The fact is, Hawley, I came into a lit[Pg 42]tle change after I got fired from the Sentinel for getting them into that confounded libel suit. A wealthy relative of mine over in England cashed in his chips, and mentioned me in his will to the extent of fifteen thousand. I was tipped off that this paper was on the market, and could be had at that figure, so I came here and bought it. There’s the whole story in a nutshell—or pretty near the whole story.”
Hawley doubted no longer. He could see now that Carroll wasn’t joking, and he had never known him to be guilty of falsehood.
“I’m tickled to death to hear this good news, old chap,” he said, grabbing his friend’s hand enthusiastically. “Let me offer you my congratulations, even though they’re tardy. You certainly are a lucky fellow.”
A wry smile came to Carroll’s face. “Not quite as lucky as you imagine,” he said grimly. “Better take back your congratulations, Hawley. It is true that I’m the owner of a newspaper now, but—you’re likely to meet me on Park Row hunting for a job in the very near future.”
“Why, what’s the matter?” the Camera Chap inquired solicitously. “You don’t mean to say that the paper isn’t a success, old man?”
Carroll shrugged his broad shoulders. “When I tell you that I had to hock my watch yesterday in order to pay my board bill, you will doubtless gather that the Oldham Daily Bulletin isn’t exactly a gold mine,” he replied dryly.
“Ye gods!” exclaimed Hawley. “And I always had an idea that newspaper owners were bloated plutocrats.”