Part 16 (1/2)
”Did you know,” he remarked to Laurence, ”that the poor old _Clarion_ is ready to bust? It will have to write a death-notice for itself in a week or two, the editor told me this morning.”
”So?” Laurence seemed as indifferent as I.
The b.u.t.terfly Man shot him a freighted glance. ”Folks in this county will sort of miss the _Clarion_,” he reflected. ”After all, it's the one county paper. Seems to me,” he mused, ”that if _I_ were going in head, neck and crop for the sweet little job of reformer-general, I'd first off get me a grappling-hook on my town's one newspaper.
Particularly when grappling-hooks were going cheap.”
”Hasn't Inglesby got a mortgage on it?”
”If he had would he let it die in its bed so nice and ladylike? Not much! It'd kick out the footboard and come alive. Inglesby must be getting rusty in the joints not to reach out for the _Clarion_ himself, right now. Maybe he figures it's not worth the price. Maybe he knows this town so well he's dead sure n.o.body that buys a newspaper here would have the nerve to print anything or think anything he didn't approve of. Yes, I guess that's it.”
”Which is your gentle way,” cut in Laurence, ”of telling me I'd better hustle out and gather in the _Clarion_ before Inglesby beats me to it, isn't it?”
”Me?” The b.u.t.terfly Man looked pained. ”I'm not telling you to buy anything. _I'm_ only thinking of the obituaries. Ask the parson.
I'm--I'm addicted to 'em, like some people are to booze. But if you'd promise to keep open the old corner for them, why, I might come out and _beg_ you to buy the _Clarion_, now it's going so cheap. Yep--all on account of the obituaries!” And he murmured:
”_Our dear little Johnny was left alive To reach the interesting age of five When_--”
”That's just about as much as I can stand of that, my son!” said I, hastily.
”The parson's got an awful tender heart,” the b.u.t.terfly Man explained and Laurence was graceless enough to grin.
”Well, as I was about to say: I happened to think Inglesby would be brute enough to choke out my pet column, or make folks pay for it, and things like that haven't got any business to have price tags on 'em.
So I got to thinking of you. You're young and tender; also a college man; and you're itching to wash and iron Appleboro--” he took off his gla.s.ses and wiped them delicately and deliberately.
”Did you also get to thinking,” said Laurence, crisply, ”that I'm just about making my salt at present, and still you're suggesting that I tie a dead old newspaper about my neck and jump overboard? One might fancy you hankered to add my obituary to your collection!” he finished with a touch of tartness.
The b.u.t.terfly Man smiled ever so gently.
”The _Clarion_ is the county paper,” he explained patiently. ”It was here first. It's been here a long time, and people are used to it. It knows by heart how they think and feel and how they want to be told they think and feel. And you ought to know Carolina people when it comes right down to prying them loose from something they're used to!”
He paused, to let that sink in.
”There's no reason why the _Clarion_ should keep on being a dead one, is there? There's plenty room for a live daily right here and now, if it was run right. Why, this town's blue-molded for a live paper! Look here: You go buy the _Clarion_. It won't cost you much. Believe me, you'll find it mighty handy--power of the press, all the usual guff, you know! I sha'n't have to worry about obituaries, but I bet you dollars to doughnuts some people will wake up some morning worrying a whole lot about editorials. Mayne--people like to think they think what they think themselves. They don't. They think what their home newspapers tell them to think. And this is your great big chance to get the town ear and shout into it good and loud.”
A week or so later Mayne & Son surprised Appleboro by purchasing the moribund _Clarion_. They didn't have to go into debt for it, either.
They got it for an absurdly low sum, although folks said, with sniffs, that anything paid for that rag was too much.
”Nevertheless,” said the b.u.t.terfly Man to me, complacently, ”that's the little jimmy that's going to grow up and crack some fat cribs.
Watch it grow!”
I watched; but, like most others, I was rather doubtful. It was true that the _Clarion_ immediately showed signs of reviving life. And that Jim Dabney, a college friend from upstate, whom Laurence had induced to accept the rather precarious position of editor and manager, wrote pleasantly as well as pungently, and so set us all to talking.
I suppose it was because it really had something to say, and that something very pertinent to our local interests and affairs, that we learned and liked to quote the _Clarion_. It made a neat appearance in new black type, and this pleased us. It had, too, a newer, clearer, louder note, which made itself heard over the whole county. The county merchants and farmers began once more to advertise in its pages, as John Flint, who watched it jealously--feeling responsible for Laurence's purchase of it--was happy to point out.
One thing, too, became more and more evident. The women were behind the _Clarion_ in a solid phalanx. They knew it meant for them a voice which spoke articulately and publicly, an insistent voice which must be answered. It noticed every Mothers' Meeting, Dorcas activity, Ladies' Aid, Altar Guild, temperance gathering; spoke respectfully of the suffragists and hopefully of the ”public-spirited women” of the new Civic League. And never, never, never omitted nor misplaced nor misspelled a name! The boy from up-state saw to that. He was wily as the serpent and simple as the dove. Over the local page appeared daily:
”LET'S GET TOGETHER!”
After awhile we took him at his word and tried to ... and things began to happen in Appleboro.