He contented
himself with one of his habitual evasions--"I will settle that when the
time comes. No, Stokely's remark did not make a crisis. If the crisis ever
does come, surely I will act like a man. I'll be securer then, more
necessary to this pair of plunderers, able to make better terms for myself.
In practical life, it is necessary to sacrifice something in order to
succeed."
But Stokely's words and his own silence and the real reasons for his
changing ideals and for his cowardice continued to annoy him.
Every day he came down town planning for a better newspaper the next
morning than they had ever made before. And his vigour, his enthusiasm
permeated the entire office. He went from one news department to another,
suggesting, asking for suggestions, praising, criticising judiciously and
with the greatest consideration for vanity. He talked with the reporters,
urging them on by showing keen interest in them and their work, and
intimate knowledge of what they were doing. And he dictated every day
telegrams to correspondents, thanking them for any conspicuously good
stories they had telegraphed in, adding something to the compensation of
those who were paid by space and made little.
If his work had not been his amusement the long hours, the constant
application, would have broken him down.
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