Ambition is the most conservative of influences upon a radical mind. No
sooner had Tertius Marrineal formulated his political hopes than there
were manifested in the conduct of The Patriot strange symptoms of a
hankering after respectability. Essentially Marrineal was not
respectable, any more than he was radical. He was simply and singly
selfish. But, having mapped out for himself a career which did not stop
short of a stately and deep-porticoed edifice in Washington's
Pennsylvania Avenue (for his conception of the potential leverage of a
great newspaper increased with The Patriot's circulation), he deemed it
advisable to moderate some of the more blatant features, on the same
principle which had induced him to reform the Veridian lumber mill
abuses, lest they be brought up to his political detriment later. A
long-distance thinker, Tertius Marrineal.
Operating through invisible channels and by a method which neither
Banneker nor Edmonds ever succeeded in fathoming, his influence now
began to be felt for the better tone of the news columns. They became
less glaringly sensational. Yet the quality of the news upon which the
paper specialized was the same; it was the handling which was insensibly
altered. That this was achieved without adversely affecting circulation
was another proof, added to those already accumulated, of Marrineal's
really eminent journalistic capacities. The change was the less obvious,
because The Patriot's competitors in the Great Three-Ringed Circus of
Sensation had found themselves being conducted, under that leadership,
farther along the primrose path of stimulation and salaciousness than
they had realized, and had already modified their policies.
Even under the new policy, however, The Patriot would hardly have
proven, upon careful analysis, more decent or self-respecting. But it
was less obvious; cleverer in avoiding the openly offensive. Capron had
been curbed in his pictorial orgies. The copy-readers had been supplied
with a list of words and terms tabooed from the captions. But the
influence of Severance was still potent in the make-up of the news.
While Banneker was relieved at the change, he suspected its impermanency
should it prove unsuccessful. To neither his chief editorial writer nor
Russell Edmonds had the proprietor so much as hinted at the modification
of scheme. His silence to these two was part of his developing policy of
separating more widely the different departments of the paper in order
that he might be the more quietly and directly authoritative over all.
The three men were lunching late at Delmonico's, and talking politics,
when Edmonds leaned forward in his seat to look toward the entrance.
"There's Severance," said he. "What's the matter with him?"
The professional infuser of excitements approached walking carefully
among the tables. His eyes burned in a white face.
"On one of his sprees," diagnosed Banneker. "Oh, Severance! Sit down
here."
"I beg your p-p-pardon." Severance spoke with marked deliberation and
delicacy, but with a faint stammer. "These not b-being office hours, I
have not the p-pleasure of your acquaintance."
Marrineal smiled.
"The p-pale rictus of the damned," observed Severance. "As one damned
soul to another, I c-confess a longing for companionship of m-my own
sort. Therefore I accept your invitation. Waiter, a Scotch h-highball."
"We were talking of--" began Banneker, when the newcomer broke in:
"Talk of m-me. Of me and m-my work. I exult in my w-work. L-like Mr.
Whitman, I celebrate myself. I p-point with pride. What think you,
gentlemen, of to-day's paper in honor of which I have t-taken my few
drinks?"
"If you mean the Territon story," growled Edmonds, "it's rotten."
"Precisely. I thank you for your g-golden opinion. Rotten. Exactly as
intended."
"Put a woman's good name on trial and sentence it on hearsay without
appeal or recourse."
"There is always the danger of going too far along those lines," pointed
out Marrineal judicially.
"Pardon me, all-wise Proprietor. The d-danger lies in not going far
enough. The frightful p-peril of being found dull."
"The Territon story assays too thin in facts, as we've put it out. If
Mrs. Territon doesn't leave her husband now for McLaurin," opined
Marrineal, "we are in a difficult position. I happen to know her and I
very much doubt--"
"Doubt not at all, d-doubting Tertius. The very fact of our publishing
the story will force her hand. It's an achievement, that story. No other
p-paper has a line of it."
"Not more than one other would touch it, in its present form," said
Banneker. "It's too raw."
"The more virtue to us. I r-regard that story as an inspiration. Nobody
could have brought it off b-but me. 'A god, a god their Severance
ruled,'" punned the owner of the name.
"Beelzebub, god of filth and maggots," snarled Edmonds.
"Bacchus, god of all true inspiration!" cried Severance. "Waiter, slave
of B-Bacchus, where is my Scotch?"
"Severance, you're going too far along your chosen line," declared
Banneker bluntly.
"Yes; we must tone down a little," agreed Marrineal.
The sensationalist lifted calmly luminous eyes to his chief. "Why?" he
queried softly. "Are you meditating a change? Does the journalistic
l-lady of easy virtue begin to yearn f-for the paths of respectability?"
"Steady, Severance," warned Edmonds.
At the touch of the curb the other flamed into still, white wrath. "If
you're going to be a whore," he said deliberately, "play the whore's
game. I'm one and I know it. Banneker's one, but hasn't the courage to
face it. You're one, Edmonds--no, you're not; not even that. You're the
hallboy that f-fetches the drinks--"
Marrineal had risen. Severance turned upon him.
"I salute you, Madam of our high-class establishment. When you take your
p-price, you at least look the business in the face. No illusions for
M-Madam Marrineal.... By the w-way, I resign from the house."
"Are you coming, Mr. Edmonds?" said Marrineal. "You'll sign the check
for me, will you, Mr. Banneker?"
Left alone with the disciple of Bacchus and Beelzebub, the editor said:
"Better get home, Severance. Come in to-morrow, will you?"
"No. I'm q-quite in earnest about resigning. No further use for the
damned j-job now."
"I never could see why you had any use for it in the first place. Was it
money?"
"Of course."
"Oh, I see."
"You d-don't see at all. I wanted the m-money for a purpose. The purpose
was a woman. I w-wanted to keep pace with her and her s-set. It was the
set to which I rightly belonged, but I'd dropped out. I thought I
p-preferred drink. I didn't after she got hold of me. I d-don't know why
the d-devil I'm telling you all this."
"I'm sorry, Severance," said Banneker honestly.
The other raised his glass. "Here's to her," he said. He drank. "I wish
her nothing w-worse than she's got. Her name is--"
"Wait a moment, Severance," cut in Banneker sharply. "Don't say anything
that you'll regret. Naming of names--"
"Oh, there's no harm in this, n-now," said Severance wearily. "Hers is
smeared in filth all over our third page. It is Maud Territon. What do
you think of P-Patriotic journalism, anyway, Banneker?"