“You might try it on for a while. But as a permanency—well, it seems to me a fellow that’s settled down to write editorials for another man all his life has sort of given up.”
“Given up? What?”
“Everything. He’s licked. Ay-ah. He’s a beaten man. He’s under contract to think another man’s thoughts and make other folks think ’em if he can.”
“Are n’t we doing that as reporters?”
“Not so much. Facts ain’t thoughts. You can report and keep your mind independent. That’s why I climb off the desk whenever I can, like to-day. Whew! I came near having Mr. Wymett go along with me. He was held up at the last minute.”
Galpin turned into his office. Jeremy went to The Record to report to Wackley and was turned over to Mr. Farley.
“Nothing about The Guardian can be published, of course,” prescribed that diplomat, who had already been in communication with the local leaders. “Give us half a column of the rest. And go light. It’s ticklish ground.”
After finishing, Jeremy went out for a long and thoughtful walk. On his return home he found a letter with the letterhead of Messrs. Hunt & Hunt, Attorneys, of Philadelphia. The firm begged to inform him that, with due allowance for taxes and fees, he was heir, under his great-aunt’s will, to the sum of $86,730.18.