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Updated: June 8, 2025
Drop your attack on the Mid and Mud: you've got 'em licked, anyway. Let up on the street railway: I notice you're taking a fall out of them on their overcrowding. Treat the theaters decently: they're entitled to a fair chance for their money. Make friends instead of foes. And go after Elias M. Pierce, to the finish. Do this, and I'll back you with the whole Certina income. Come on, now, Boyee.
Pierce, Dad?" "Hm! Ah er well, Boyee, as for that, that's another tail on a cat. In a business way, I meant." "In a business way he's trying to be a pretty efficient enemy of mine. How would you like it if he undertook to interfere with Certina?" By perceptible inches Dr. Surtaine's chest rounded in slow expansion. "Legislatures and government bureaus have tried that.
It's got to come to the paper that has the circulation, Dad." "Hum!" droned the big doctor, dubiously. "Have you reckoned the Pierce libel suits in?" "He can't win them." "Can't he? I don't know. He intends to try. And he feels pretty cocky about it. E.M. Pierce has something up his sleeve, Boyee." "That would be a body-blow. But he can't win," repeated Hal. "Why, I saw the whole thing myself."
The old quack eased himself into a chair with his fine air of ample leisure, creating for himself a fragrant halo of cigar smoke. "Well, Boyee." The tone was a mingling of warm affection and semi-humorous reproach. "You went and did it to Elias M., didn't you?" "Yes, sir. We went and did it." The Doctor shook his head, looking at the other through narrowing eyes. "And it's worrying you.
When he returned the patient had recovered consciousness. "Where's Dad?" he asked eagerly. "Did he hurt Dad?" "No, Boyee." The big man was at the bedside in two long, velvety-footed steps. Struck by the extenuation of the final "y" in the term, the physician for the first time noted a very faint foreign accent, the merest echo of some alien tongue. "Are you in pain, Boyee?" "Not very much.
You go to it, Hal. I'll back you, as far as you like." "No, sir. I thank you just the same: this is my game." "Want to play it alone, do you?" "How else can I make a career of it?" "Right you are, Boyee. But it takes something behind money to build up a newspaper. And the 'Clarion' 'll take some building up." "Well, I've got aspiration enough, if it comes to that," smiled Hal.
There was much yet that was beyond his powers of comprehension a knotty problem for which he saw no immediate solution. "What do you think about it, "General"?" he asked, turning to the mine-locater. "Have we sufficient evidence to hang this devil in scarlet?" "Hardly, boyee, hardly.
"Maybe you don't need the dividends, but there's plenty of people that do, people that depend on 'em. Widows and orphans, too." "Oh, that widow-and-orphan dummy!" cried Hal. "What would the poor, struggling railroads ever do without it to hide behind!" "You talk like Ellis," reproved his father. "Boyee, I don't want you to get too much under his influence.
"I don't see that at all, sir." "No, you don't. But one of these days something in the news line will come up that'll hit you right between the eyes, if ever it gets into print. Then see what you'll do." "I'll print it." "No, you won't, Boyee. Human nature ain't built that way. You'll smother it, and be glad you've got the power to." "Dad, you believe I'm honest, don't you?"
Just look at this railroad accident article broad-mindedly, Boyee. You own some Mid-and-Mud stock." "Thanks to you, Dad." "Paying eight per cent. How long will it go on paying that if the newspapers keep stirring up trouble for it? Anti-railroad sentiment is fostered by just such stuff as the 'Clarion' printed. What if the engineer was worked overtime? He got paid for it."
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