My first Monday in the _Advocate_ office was not a pleasant day.
Arriving there about ten o'clock in the morning, I learned that the
editor was never expected before three in the afternoon. I knew no
other person in the building, and so no place was open to me except
the waiting-room. However, I whiled away the morning in that apartment
by making a pretty thorough study of a file of the _Advocate_, in the
course of which I took notes and made memoranda of suggestions which
would have kept an editor busy for a week or two had he acted upon one
half of them.
The time thus spent was far from wasted, since it gave me more of an
insight into current politics (as reflected in the pages of this
particular organ) than I had obtained during my whole life in England
up till then, and it gave me a thorough grasp of the policy of the
_Advocate_. After a somewhat Barmecidal feast in a Fleet Street
eating-house (domestic expenditure left me very short of funds at this
time), I returned to my post and wrote a political leading article
which I ventured to think at least the equal in persuasive force and
profundity of anything I had read that morning. At three o'clock
precisely, my name, written on a slip of paper, was placed on the
editorial table. There were then nine other people in the waiting-room.
At four I began a second leading article, which was finished at
half-past five. At a quarter to six the manuscript of both effusions
was sent in to the editor. At a quarter to seven inquiry elicited the
information that the editor had left the building almost an hour
since, with Sir William Bartram, after a crowded afternoon which had
brought disappointment to many beside myself who had wished to see
him.
Unused as I was now to salary earning I felt uneasy. It seemed to me
rather dreadful that any institution should be mulcted to the extent
of a guinea in the day, by way of payment to a man who spent that day
in a waiting-room. I looked anxiously for my leading articles next
morning. But, no; the editorial space was occupied by other (much less
edifying) contributions upon topics which had not occurred to me.
During that morning I began to fancy that the very bell-boys were
suspicious, and might be contemplating the desirability of laying a
complaint against me for not earning my princely salary.
However, at a few minutes after three o'clock, I was escorted by the
head messenger--who had rather the air of a seneschal or chamberlain--to
the editorial apartment, where I found Arncliffe giving audience to
his news editor, Mr. Pink, and one of his leader-writers, a very old
_Advocate_ identity, Mr. Samuel Harbottle---a white-whiskered and
rubicund gentleman, who was entitled to use most of the letters of the
alphabet after his name should he so choose. I was presented to both
these gentlemen, and in a few minutes they took their departure.
'Poor old Harbottle!' said Arncliffe, when the door had closed behind
the leader-writer. 'An able man, mind you, in his prehistoric way;
but-- Well, he can hardly expect to live our pace, you know. He has
had a very fair innings. Still, we must move gradually. The change has
to be made, but we don't want to upset these patriarchs more than is
absolutely necessary. Have a cigar? Sure? Well, I dare say you're
right. I'll have a cigarette. Sorry I couldn't see you yesterday. Now
I'll tell you what I want you to tackle for me, first of all:
Correspondence.'
For a moment I had a vision of almost forgotten days in Sussex Street,
Sydney: 'Dear Mr. Gubbins,--With regard to your last consignment of
butter,' etc.
'The correspondence of this paper has been disgracefully neglected.
And, mind you, that's a serious mistake. Nothing people like better
than seeing their names in the paper. They make their relatives read
it, and for each time you print their rubbish, they'll be content to
scan your every column for a fortnight. I mean to do it properly.
We'll give two or three columns a day to our Letters to the Editor.
But, the point is, they must be handled intelligently, both with
regard to which letters should be used and which should not; and also
in the matter of condensation. We can't let 'em ramble indefinitely,
or they'd fill the paper. Now that's what I want you to tackle for me
for a start. I can't possibly get time to wade through them myself;
but if you once get the thing licked into proper shape, it will make a
good permanent feature, and--er--you will gradually drop into other
things, you know.'
'Yes. I've made notes of a few suggestions,' I began.
'Quite so. That's what I want. That's where I hope we shall be really
successful. There's no good in having a brilliant editorial staff if
one doesn't get suggestions from them, and act on 'em.'