It was in vain I represented to him that to withhold this matter of public interest was to show an unpardonable disregard of the rights of others, which, as contrary to public policy, could easily be construed into an act of overt disloyalty. He did not seem to be interested in the rights of others, and entirely refused to see the matter in the proper light. He was not a rational man. When I attempted to argue the case with him, he became violent, and roared at me until, I am sure, had the bulls of Bashan heard him, they would have been tempted to "hide their diminished heads." I decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and left him to fight it out alone. I returned to the office, rendered an account of the manner in which I had failed, and was the recipient of a scathing rebuke from the city editor. It was in vain I tried to get angry. Even to myself I could not simulate proper indignation, so thoroughly had the starch been taken out of me by my seance with an excusably irritated man, knowing the while that I was trespassing on the bounds of courtesy.
That experience was enough for me. While I might become a successful reporter, in doing so I fear I should lose that regard for the rights of others, the petty conscience of every-day life, that is conspicuously absent in so many of the men we meet.
While this incident has not altered my liking for newspaper work, it has very materially modified my ideas concerning certain branches of it. From the reporter's desk to the editor's chair is a natural and easy transition; and the outsider, unless he possesses the genius of George Kennan and his companions, must go through this stage of preliminary training. Those of us who have no influence, no startling genius, and a decided dislike to becoming inquisitive nuisances feel that we are overweighted in the journalistic handicap.
What course shall we pursue, that what few merits we possess shall not be overshadowed by the lack of one quality, which may be a useful one to the reporter, but is usually known and avoided in the ordinary man under the vulgar name of "gall"?
Once upon a time there lived a good little girl whom everybody loved. She had six aunts, four uncles, and twenty-seven cousins, besides a brother and two sisters. All these relatives, of course, especially loved her, for that was only natural. And they were all very glad, indeed, to help her in every way possible.