Dick was discouraged and, a rare thing with him, his face showed his discouragement. In the war against the saloon and vice in its various forms he felt that he stood almost alone.
At the door of The Clarion office the editor, Lemuel Daggett, hailed him. He hesitated a moment, then entered. A newspaper office was familiar territory to him, as was also that back country that stretches to the horizon from the back door of every printing office. The Clarion was the organ of the political Outs as The Pioneer was that of the Ins. Politics in British Columbia had not yet arrived at that stage of development wherein parties differentiate themselves from each other upon great principles. The Ins were in and the Outs opposed them chiefly on that ground.
“Well,” said Daggett, with an air of gentle patronage, “how did the meeting go last night?”
“I don't suppose you need to ask. I saw you there. It didn't go at all.”
“Yes,” replied Daggett, “your men are all right in their opinions, but they never allow their opinions to interfere with business. I could have told you every last man of them was scared. There's Matheson, couldn't stand up against his wholesale grocer. Religion mustn't interfere with sales. The saloons and 'red lights' pay cash; therefore, quit your nonsense and stick to business. Hutton sells more drugs and perfumes to the 'red lights' than to all the rest of the town and country put together. Goring's chief won't stand any monkeying with politics. Leave things as they are. Why, even the ladies decline to imperil their husbands' business.”
Dick swallowed the bitter pill without a wink. He was down, but he was not yet completely out. Only too well he knew the truth of Daggett's review of the situation.
“There is something in what you say,” he conceded, “but—”
“Oh, come now,” interrupted Daggett, “you know better than that. This town and this country is run by the whiskey ring. Why, there's Hickey, he daren't arrest saloonkeeper or gambler, though he hates whiskey and the whole outfit worse than poison. Why doesn't he? The Honourable McKenty, M. P., drops him a hint. Hickey is told to mind his own business and leave the saloon and the 'red lights' alone, and so poor Hickey is sitting down trying to discover what his business is ever since. The safe thing is to do nothing.”
“You seem to know all about it,” said Dick. “What's the good of your paper? Why don't you get after these men?”
“My dear sir, are you an old newspaper man, and ask that? It is quite true that The Clarion is the champion of liberty, the great moulder of public opinion, the leader in all moral reform, but unhappily, not being an endowed institution, it is forced to consider advertising space. Advertising, circulation, subscriptions, these are the considerations that determine newspaper policy.”