“I think, Mr. Budd, that Mr. Fenton can give you the advice and counsel
that I have so wofully failed to furnish you,” remarked Gertrude, after
her callers were seated. “You see, Mr. Fenton takes the new woman
seriously.”
“Surely, Mr. Budd,” said John Fenton, “there is no great merit in that.
We are obliged to, are we not?”
“I am disappointed in you, Mr. Fenton,” exclaimed Gertrude. “I thought
you did it willingly, and now you hint at compulsion.”
Buchanan Budd grasped the opportunity for a flank movement.
“You have thrown yourself open to suspicion, Mr. Fenton. I fear your
counsel and advice to one who is very glad to welcome woman to new
privileges would not be as valuable as I had hoped it would be.”
Fenton saw that he had placed himself at a disadvantage.
“You both do me an injustice,” he explained. “Although there may be, as
I have said, no possibility of retreat, we men still take pleasure in
advancing with women, rather than against them.”
Budd saw at once that his opponent was a strategist worthy of his own
Napoleonic skill.
“You see,” said Budd, gazing earnestly at Gertrude, “that you find all
men ready to capitulate. The burden now lies on your own shoulders. It
is for you to direct your allies in the line that they should take.”
Gertrude smiled in apparent amusement; but she had a painful
consciousness that her hand would tremble perceptibly if she held it
out straight before her.
“It seems,” she remarked, looking at Fenton, “that everything has been
turned around. As a guide and adviser to men, I fear that woman is not
yet quite up in her part.”
“As my friend Richard Stoughton,--you met him at the musicale last
evening, Miss Van Vleck,--as Stoughton puts it, woman has evoluted
into a mentor from a tormentor,” remarked Fenton, proving that he was
no longer a young man, by quoting the witticism of a friend and giving
credit to the author.
“I have been told that Mr. Stoughton is clever,” remarked Gertrude. “He
is on a newspaper, is he not?”
A slight flush mounted to Fenton’s cheek.
“Yes,” he answered, looking at Budd steadily; “he is one of my
colleagues on the _Trumpet_.”
“Ah,” commented Budd, with what he doubtless considered an effectively
Napoleonic drawl, “you are--ah--in journalism, Mr. Fenton?”
There was nothing offensive in the words themselves, but the speaker’s
tone implied that he considered journalism a line of endeavor that was
not recognized in his set. Gertrude Van Vleck understood the veiled
sneer in his voice, and her eyes shone mischievously as she cast a
rapid glance at Fenton, and then said to Budd,--
“It seems to me, and I know so many women who agree with me, that
journalism is, above all others, the appropriate profession for a man
of intellect in these days.”
So far as good form permitted it to express any emotion, Buchanan
Budd’s face wore a look of surprise as she uttered these words. Fenton
smiled slightly, and said,--
“Won’t you explain your position, Miss Van Vleck? Your remark is so
distinctly complimentary to my line of life that I should be delighted
to have you enlighten us further regarding your reason for the
conclusion you have reached.”
“Perhaps that would be killing two birds with one stone,” suggested
Gertrude enthusiastically. “Mr. Budd has been asking my advice about
the best method of getting into touch with the new ideas that are
influencing the world--especially as they apply to woman. It seems
to me that the life of a newspaper man must, of necessity, place him
in sympathy with the most advanced tendencies of thought. I mean, of
course, a newspaper man who holds a position of any prominence in
journalism.”
“If I follow you--ah--Miss Van Vleck,” put in Budd, his drawl growing
somewhat more pronounced as he realized that the enemy had cleverly
thrown him upon the defensive, “if I follow you, the proposition seems
to be that in order to become thoroughly imbued with the theories that
dominate woman at present, I should--ah--go into journalism.”
Gertrude laughed nervously.
“What do you advise, Mr. Fenton? Mr. Budd is honestly anxious to be
progressive; he even flattered me by saying that I could help him to
overcome certain ancient prejudices that still cling to him. But I feel
convinced that you can be of more service to him in this matter than
I--or any woman--could ever be.”
“I fear,” said Fenton coldly, “that the treatment for Mr. Budd,
at which you have hinted, is much too heroic. The life of the New
York newspaper man is not devoted to the study of theories, but to
the discovery and publication of facts. Our effort is to free from
imprisonment poor old ‘Truth, crushed to earth,’ to use the words of
the poet.”
“I suppose--ah--Mr. Fenton,” suggested Budd, “that the reason the
newspapers stir up so much mud, then, is that they find--ah--Truth in
such an unfortunate position.”
Gertrude and Fenton laughed outright.
“Very well put, Mr. Budd,” exclaimed the latter. “I feel convinced
that you need no outside aid to enable you to keep up with current
tendencies; provided, of course,”--and Fenton looked earnestly at
Budd,--“provided, of course, that you honestly prefer to be progressive
rather than reactionary.”
Budd had arisen to make his adieux.
“I--ah--feel very much encouraged, Mr. Fenton, by your words.
Especially as they don’t condemn me--ah--to a newspaper life,” he said,
smiling sarcastically. Then he turned and took Gertrude’s hand.
“I hope, Miss Van Vleck,” he said earnestly, “that you feel encouraged
about my redemption.”
Gertrude looked at him with mock solemnity. “I fear, Mr. Budd, that
the age of miracles has long gone by.”
Budd strolled thoughtfully along the avenue toward his favorite club.
“She is mistaken about the age of miracles,” he was saying to himself.
“There are amazing and inexplicable phenomena in sight all around us. A
newspaper man who appears to advantage in a drawing-room! Is not that a
miracle? And I even suspect that she admires him. It’s most incredible.”
There was a great deal in the world that astonished Napoleon when he
reached St. Helena and had time to sit down and think.
* * * * *
“Do you know anything of a man named John Fenton--a journalist, I
believe?” asked Buchanan Budd of Percy-Bartlett when he reached the
club.
“Yes,” answered the latter. “Fenton belonged to our set years
ago--before you entered it, you know. He’s a thoroughbred, but
eccentric, and completely out of the running.”
This answer did not tend to restore Budd’s disturbed equilibrium. He
suspected that Percy-Bartlett underrated John Fenton’s staying powers.