CHAPTER VI
THAT phenomenon of finance which has relegated many a business man to a pained and bewildered retirement, increase of receipts attended with a parallel deficit, had marked The Guardian’s first year under the new control. No question but that The Guardian was a much livelier, newsier, more influential, and better paper. No question but that the public appreciated this. The increased and steadily increasing circulation bore proof. With reluctance the local advertisers also accepted the fact. Rates had been raised, to the accompaniment of loud protests, which were largely formal, for the merchants paid the higher charge, and, in many cases, increased their advertising appropriation. The Guardian was recognized as a good medium. It was on the way to being recognized as a necessary medium. When a newspaper reaches that point, its fortune is made.
But a newspaper is like an automobile or a loaf of bread in this fundamental respect, that it costs more to make a good than a bad one. All the special features which Andrew Galpin had put on, mounted up into money. The staff was more expensive. The telegraphic service cost more. At no time had swelling revenues quite overtaken rising expenditures. Galpin, however, who had originally suggested to the new boss A Short Life and a Merry One as The Guardian’s appropriate motto, was now optimistic. He confidently believed the paper to be within measurable distance of assured success.
“But we’re pretty near at the end of our rope—my rope,” Jeremy pointed out.
“Ay-ah. There’s other ropes dangling around loose. Why not hitch to one?”
“Borrow?”
“I’ve heard of its being done in business,” replied the general manager quizzically. “Somebody’s got to help the banks make a living.”
“How much do you think we need?”
Galpin juggled with a pencil and a sheet of paper. “Let’s get enough while we’re at it. Twenty thousand ought to be the last cent we’ll ever have to ask for.”