"No, that's a fact, but then, there comes up a difference of opinion as to what does concern the public." He paused for a few moments and then continued: "Thought I'd step over and see if I could get an ad from you. Do all my own work in that line; do all the editorials and write most of the local leaders. It keeps me busy, but I'm getting out the best paper the city ever had. And my ad rates are not high when the circulation is considered."
"I shall give you an advertisement later on," said I, "but just at present there could be no object in it. It's out of season and there's nothing to advertise."
"But you'll want a write-up announcing the change of management. The people will be interested in it, you know."
"Yes, but doesn't that very fact make it a piece of legitimate news?"
"Well, yes, in a way. But you know I can't afford to print news for nothing. I'm not printing news for my health, you know. Write you up in good shape for ten dollars."
It was the easiest way out of what appeared to be the beginning of an unpleasant entanglement, and I told him that he might proceed with his "write-up." It was a sort of bribery, the purchase of his good opinion in the hope of securing his silence, for I knew that there must be war, and perhaps a complete change of geographical lines, so far as I was concerned, if the newspaper should offensively associate the Senator and the playhouse. But as I sat there, the subject of a "pleasant interview"—meeting smile with smile—I actually ached to kick that red gargoyle down the stairs.
"Well," he said, blowing the cigar stub out of his mouth and letting it fall where it might, "I'll get back to work. Come over sometime."
"Thank you. I may see more of you when the season opens."
"Guess that's right. Haven't got a cut of yourself, have you?"
"No, and I don't care for one."