“A lady?”
“Yes. Dame Nature—a charming old woman if you stand in with her; a blue terror if you go against her. The wheat crop in America this year will be only three-quarters of the normal yield, if it is that much. You can juggle with the fact for a little time, but you can’t conceal it. Even the great firm on Broadway cannot make a blade of wheat grow where one has been killed by the frost—not in the same year, at least. So you may telegraph to your distinguished principals and tell them that John Steele and Dame Nature are going to dance a minuet with those two Corsican brothers of New York, and your fraternal friends will find some difficulty in keeping pace with the music. And so good-bye, Mr. Nicholson.”
“Good-bye, Mr. Steele. I am very sorry we cannot come to terms.”
Once outside, Steele hailed a cab and drove to the Chicago Daily Blade building. Here, as at the Press Alliance, everyone was hard at work; but Steele’s name was good for entrance almost anywhere in Chicago, and the managing editor did not keep him waiting.
“Good evening, Stoliker,” began Steele. “I have got in my pocket the greatest newspaper ‘beat’ that has ever been let loose on Chicago since the night of the Brooklyn Theatre Fire.”
“Then, Steele, you’re as welcome as flowers that bloom in the spring. Out with it.”
“There’s been a gigantic conspiracy to delude the Press and people of the United States.”
“Oh, they’re always trying that,” said Stoliker indifferently.
“Yes, but this time they’ve succeeded, up to this evening. Just cast your eye over this document.”
A managing editor is quick to form an accurate estimate of the proportions of a piece of news submitted to him.