Mr. Clotworthy spoke very sharply to him. "You understand," he said,
"that you're here to write what we want you to write, and not to write
what you think. If you start any of your capering about Truth and
Reforming the world, I'll fire you into the street the minute I catch
you at it. You're here to interest people. That's all. You're not here
to elevate their minds or teach them anything. You're here to keep up
our sales and increase them if you can. D'you understand me?"
"I do," said John.
"Well?"
"I'll try the job for a while and see how I like it!"
Mr. Clotworthy sat back in his chair and rubbed his glasses with his
handkerchief. "You've a great nerve," he said, smiling. "I don't know
whether you talk like that because you're sure of yourself or just
stupid!"
"I always knew my own mind," John replied.
Mr. Clotworthy turned him over to Mr. Tarleton, the news-editor, who
was instructed to give him hints on his work and introduce him to other
members of the staff.
For two days John did very little in the office, beyond finding his way
about, but on the third day of his employment, Tarleton suddenly called
him into his room and told him that the musical critic had telephoned
to say he was unwell and would not be able to attend a concert at the
Albert Hall that evening.
"You'll have to go instead," said Tarleton.
"But I don't know anything about music," John protested.
"What's that got to do with it?"
"Well, I thought one was supposed to know something about music before
you wrote a criticism of it!"
"Look here, young fellow," said Tarleton. "Let me give you a piece of
advice. Never admit that there's anything in this world that you don't
know. A _Daily Sensation_ man knows everything! ..."
"But I have no ear for music. I hardly know a minim from a semi-quaver!..."
"Well, that doesn't matter. Get a programme. Mark on it the songs and
pieces that get the most applause. Those are the best things. See?
Anybody can criticise music when he knows a tip or two like that. If
the singer is a celebrated person, like Melba or Tetrazzini, you say
she was in her usual brilliant form. If the singer isn't celebrated,
just say that she shows promise of development!..."
"But supposing I don't like her?"
"Then say nothing about her. If we can't praise people on this paper,
we ignore them. Get your stuff in before eleven, will you? Here's the
ticket!"
Tarleton thrust the card into John's hand and, a little dazed and a
little excited, John went out of the room. This was his first important
job. Words that he had written would appear in print in the morning,
and hundreds of thousands of people would read them. The _Daily
Sensation_ had an enormous circulation ... a million people bought
it every morning, so Tarleton said, and that meant, he explained, that
about three or four million people read it. Each copy of a paper was
probably seen by several persons. The thought that some judgment of his
would be read by a million men and women in the morning caused John to
feel tremendously responsible. He must be careful to give his praise
judiciously. All of the persons present at the concert that night, but
more especially the singers and instrumentalists, would turn first of
all to his notice. There might be a great political crisis or a
sensational murder reported in the morning's news, but these people
would turn first to his notice to see what he had said about the music.
And it would not do to let them have a wrong impression about the
concert. Tarleton had told him not to dispraise anything ... "it'll be
cut out if you do" ... but at all events he would take care that his
praise was justly given. He would send copies of the papers, marked
with blue pencil, to his mother and Mr. McCaughan and Mr. Cairnduff. He
could imagine the talk there would be in Ballyards about his criticism
of the concert. The minister and the schoolmaster would be greatly
impressed when they realised that the paper with the largest
circulation in the world had asked him to say what he thought of Madame
Tetrazzini. Mr. McCaughan had never heard anything greater than a
cantata sung by the church choir in the church room, and he had been
deeply impressed by the statements made about it by a reporter from the
_North Down Herald_ who declared that the rendering of the sacred
work reflected great credit on all concerned in it, but particularly on
the Reverend Mr. McCaughan to whose sterling instruction in the
principles of true religion, the young people engaged in singing the
cantata clearly owed the sincerity and fervour with which they sang
their parts. If he were so greatly impressed by a report in the
_North Down Herald_, would he not be overwhelmed by the fact that
one of his congregation had been chosen to pronounce judgment on the
greatest singer in the world in the greatest newspaper in the world ...
for John was now satisfied that the _Daily Sensation_ was
enormously more important than any other paper that was published. He
went to a tea-shop in Fleet Street where he knew he could hope to meet
Hinde, and found him sitting in a corner with a friend who, soon after
John's arrival, went away.
"You needn't go to the concert if you're not desperately keen on it,"
Hinde said when John had told him of his job. "You can write your
notice now!..."
"Write it now! ... But I haven't been to the concert!"
"I wouldn't give much for the man who couldn't write a criticism of a
concert without going to it," Hinde contemptuously replied. "Say that
Tetrazzini's wonderful voice enthralled the audience and that there
were scenes of unparalleled enthusiasm as the diva graciously responded
to the clamorous demands for encores. Add a few words about the man who
played her accompaniments and the number of floral tributes she
received, and there you are. That's all that's necessary!"
"I couldn't do it," said John. It wouldn't be honest!"
"Don't be a prig," Hinde exclaimed.
"Prig! Is it being a prig to do your work fairly?"
"No, but it's being a prig to treat a thing as important that isn't
important at all. I wanted you to come to a music-hall with me to-night!"
"I'm sorry," John replied stiffly, "I'd like to go with you, but I
couldn't think of doing such a thing as you suggest to me!"
"I wonder how long you'll feel like that, Mac?" Hinde laughed.
"All my life, I hope!"
"Well, have it your own way, then. But you're wasting your time!"
"And another thing," John continued, "I want to hear the woman singing.
I've never heard anybody great at the music yet!"