And then He said it! "I shall be at liberty later this week to discuss
more fully the details of these past years." (Shades of "ain't got no!")
"Meanwhile, my secretary will give you a complete dossier on my planned
Official Bulletin." He lighted a cigarette after offering me one. "I
should deem it an honor," he continued, "to have a man of your literary
versatility and--I must add--your vast practical experience become Chief
Editor of that Bulletin. The publication, which I should enjoy
christening _The Terran Beacon-Sentinel_--with your permission,
sir--shall be more than my official organ. It shall set the standards
for the coming newspaper world."
He cocked an eyebrow at me and smiled. "I believe we are in perfect
accord about certain standards, are we not, Mr. Booth? The deplorable
grammatical practices of some newspapers! Well, really, Mr. Booth! I
feel assured of your agreement!"
He led me around the desk and pointed to the Coat of Arms. As He stood
silent, I felt obliged to look more closely. I had seen it before, of
course, but seeing it now, greatly enlarged, I was able to make out its
detail.
What I had thought was a mere decorative border, I now realized was a
motif I have seen all my life! A tiny lighthouse sending forth a beam!
The trademark of my paper!
As I stood there, gaping, His Majesty laughed softly and said, "That,
Mr. Booth, I felt impelled to include. For, without your most fortuitous
termination of my apprenticeship in your organization, I should not have
risen to my present position."
* * * * *
Again He took my hand and shook it, warmly. His hair is just a bit gray
at the temples, and there are signs of strain on His finely featured
face. Those awkward hands are now strong and purposeful.
He apologized that He must return to His duties, and went with me to the
door. "My secretary will fill in further details about your new
position. Newspapers shall once again be published. No--don't say a
word, Mr. Booth! I know what you are thinking.
"Your salary," he continued as we stood at the open door, "shall, of
course, be commensurate to your high authority in this new field. Allow
me, now, to thank you most deeply and sincerely for your unwitting aid
in my youth. I assure you, Mr. Booth, I have often thought of that day
we talked. And I hope to repay you, in some measure, for what you did."
He said more, mostly polite phrases of good-by. And then I was outside
after being handed a folder by some man.
An official jetmobile took me to my residence--which turned out to be in
the East Wing. Here I am, and I don't understand. I came prepared to
suffer heaven only knows what as part of Kilmer Jones's childish pattern
for revenge.
Instead, here I am, head of the Official Bulletin, titular ruler and
ruler-in-fact of the future journalism of the world!
There is something behind this--I keep feeling there is. But what? What?
Or is he truly generous, to a degree never before known among absolute
monarchs?
* * * * *
February 13, 1
Kyleton Palace, North America
I am a suspicious and most humble old man. I see now that Kyle's
generosity amazed me only because I myself would have been incapable of
such an action.
Just now, I fear for His Majesty. I was right, before, when I said there
was no subtlety in the man. He is too open, too fair, too forgiving. A
ruler with such greatness of heart might easily allow some small
insignificant person in too far, too close. I fear for him!
* * * * *
February 14, 1
Kyleton Palace, North America
Tomorrow we begin publication! The pressroom is magnificent! I can
hardly wait. It's been a long time since I've felt such exuberance.
This afternoon I am to conduct a conference of some eight hundred
editors! His Majesty's secretary has sent me an outline on Journalistic
Standards, which I shall study after lunch.
There was a note attached, in His Majesty's handwriting--such beautiful
penmanship, too. "A mere formality," it said, "for, of course, you and I
know full well what the future of journalism shall be, Mr. Booth."
* * * * *