After his uncompromising attitude at their first meeting, the editor of The Oracle made a great deal of Wynne, and besought him to sign a binding contract.
“I won’t sign anything,” Wynne replied.
“I’ll give you a salary of seven pounds a week if you do.”
“I wouldn’t for seventy.”
“You’ll think better of it later on.”
“Later on I shall wish to God I had never written for you at all. It isn’t a thing to be proud of.”
At this the editor laughed and clapped him on the back.
“I’ve been wanting some one like you for years,” he cried.
“You’ll be wanting some one like me again before long,” came the answer.
Strange to say, the stout man did not resent Wynne’s attitude, neither did he understand it. He regarded this queer, emaciated boy as an agreeable oddity, and allowed him to say whatever he liked. Wynne was most valuable to The Oracle, for his articles were infinitely more educated and infinitely more stinging than any of the other writers’. As a direct result they caused a corresponding increase of irritation and a corresponding improvement in sales.