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Updated: May 25, 2025
Life is full of disillusions. Could this be the State Tribune he held in his hand? The State Tribune of Mr. Peter Pardriff, who had stood so staunchly for Mr. Crewe and better things? Who had hitherto held the words of the Leith statesman in such golden estimate as to curtail advertising columns when it was necessary to print them for the public good? Mr.
Crewe's eye travelled from column to column, from page to page, in vain. By some incredible oversight on the part of Mr. Pardriff, the ringing words were not there, nay, the soul-stirring events of that eventful day appeared, on closer inspection, to have been deliberately edited out! The terrible indignation of the righteous arose as Mr. This was all literally all! If Mr.
Crewe settled himself on his south porch and opened the State Tribune, and his heart gave a bound as his eye fell upon the following heading to the leading editorial: Had his reward come at last? Had Mr. Peter Pardriff seen the error of his way? Mr. Crewe leisurely folded back the sheet, and called to his secretary, who was never far distant.
Pardriff that he was a reformer, and not at all in sympathy with certain practices which undoubtedly existed. Some years before to be exact, the year Austen Vane left the law school Mr. Pardriff had proposed to exchange the Ripton Record with the editor of the Pepper County Plainsman in afar Western State. The exchange was effected, and Mr.
Pardriff before the world-quaking announcement of June 7th, and had found Mr. Pardriff a reformer who did not believe that the railroad should run the State. But the editor of the Ripton Record was a man after Emerson's own heart: "a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds" and Mr. Pardriff did not go to Wedderburn.
"I'm not ready to walk the ties when I go to Newcastle," he remarked, "and Nat ain't quite bankrupt yet. The Gaylords," continued Mr. Pardriff, who always took the cynical view of a man of the world, "have had some row with the Northeastern over lumber shipments. I understand they're goin' to buck 'em for a franchise in the next Legislature, just to make it lively.
The new statesman from Leith is cutting a wide swath. Not a day passes but his voice is heard roaring in the Forum; he has visited all the State institutions, dined and wined the governor and his staff and all the ex-governors he can lay his hands on, and he has that hard-headed and caustic journalist, Mr. Peter Pardriff, of the State Tribune, hypnotized.
"Vane Why, he ain't a full-fledged lawyer yet. I've hired him in an unimportant case. Who asked him to run?" "Young Tom Gaylord and a delegation." "He couldn't have got it," said Mr. Crewe. "I don't know," said Mr. Pardriff, "he might have given Billings a hustle for the nomination." "You supported Billings, I noticed," said Mr. Crewe. Mr. Pardriff winked an eye.
"And some of 'em might, by accident, vote the Republican ticket," Mr. Pardriff retorted, narrowing his eyes a little. Mr. Crewe evidently thought this a negligible suggestion, for he did not reply to it, but presently asked for the political news in Ripton. "Well," said Mr. Pardriff, "you know they tried to get Austen Vane to run for State senator, don't you?"
Pardriff had lived in the eighteenth century, he would probably have referred as casually to the Boston massacre as a street fight which it was. Profoundly disgusted with human kind, as the noblest of us will be at times, Mr. Crewe flung down the paper, and actually forgot to send the fifty copies to his friends! After Mr.
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