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Updated: June 8, 2025
Vanney gave the impression of feeling carefully for his words. "One may go far in journalism and yet be comparatively unknown to the public. Still, he might be of great usefulness," added the sage, brightening, "very great usefulness. A sound, conservative, self-respecting newspaper such as The Ledger, is a public benefactor." "And the editor of it?" "That's right, my boy," approved the other.
That's what the Vanney crowd's kick got them." "Pop, what do you make of Willis Enderby?" "Oh, he's plodding along only a couple of decades behind his time." "A reactionary?" "Didn't I say he was plodding along? A reactionary is immovable except in the wrong direction. Enderby's a conservative." "As a socialist you're against any one who isn't as radical as you are."
If you stand for your system after that, I'll pay for the car." To which the other replied sadly that Banneker had in some manner acquired a false and distorted view of industrial relations. Therein, for once in an existence guided almost exclusively by prejudice, Horace Vanney was right.
Philip goes." "This railroad's different. I'd be through if I butted in on this mill row." "How's that?" "Well, for one thing, old Vanney, who's the real boss here, is a director of the road." "So that's it!" Banneker digested this information. "Why are the women so anxious to get away?"
Bye-bye, hedda ca'y dissa highrob two miles 'way down vanney, 'way up heel. Nen missiolary man lose ole his breffs, an' begin to gaps. He say, 'Mus' res'; mus' putta you down! Chan Tow kep' gloan, an' say: 'You putta me down I doan' know I die. Mus' getta home! Missiolary man say: 'Can't he'p I 'mos' exhaus'. Nen dissa highrob jump down vay well, an' say: 'We', I mus' getta home.
Sighting Banneker at luncheon a few days later, Horace Vanney went so far as to cross the room to greet and congratulate him. "A master-stroke," he said, pressing Banneker's hand with his soft palm. "We're glad to have you with us. Won't you call me up and lunch with me soon?" At The Retreat, after polo, that Saturday, the senior Masters met Banneker face to face in a hallway, and held him up.
Cressey had doubted that one could be at the same time a successful journalist and a gentleman; Horace Vanney had deemed individuality inconsistent with newspaper writing; Tommy Burt and other jejune pessimists of the craft had declared genuine honesty incompatible with the higher and more authoritative phases of the profession.
The Ledger's handling, while less objectionable than some of the others, was decidedly unfortunate." Banneker gazed at him in stupefaction. "Mr. Vanney, The Ledger minimized every detail unfavorable to the mills and magnified every one which told against the strikers. It was only its skill that concealed the bias in every paragraph."
Nothing happened; at least, nothing indicative. Mr. Greenough's expression was as flat and neutral as the desk over which he presided as he called Banneker's name and said to him: "Mr. Horace Vanney wishes to relieve his soul of some priceless information. Will you call at his office at two-thirty?" It was Mr.
"Had to get a horse and ride to Manzanita to interview old Vanney and a couple of other big guys from the East. My first story's on the wire," explained the newcomer offhand. "I want some local-color stuff for my second day follow-up." "It must be hard to do that," said Banneker interestedly, "when you haven't seen any of it yourself." "Patchwork and imagination," returned the other wearily.
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