When Mr. Whitely arrived, Mr. Blodgett was as good as his word, taking
the matter practically out of my hands, and letting me sit a passive
and amused spectator of the contest between the two shrewd men, who
dropped all thought of personal friendship while they discussed the
matter. Mr. Blodgett won, and made the further stipulation that since
Mr. Whitely intended to be at the office only in the afternoon, I might
be equally privileged as to my hours of attendance. His forethought and
kindness did more, for his last speech to Mr. Whitely was, “Then it’s
understood that the doctor writes your letters and revises your
editorials, but nothing else.” And as soon as we were alone he
intimated, “Remember that, or before you know it he’ll be screwing you
to death. Don’t you write anything extra for him unless there’s extra
pay. Now, don’t waste my time by thanks in business hours, but come in
to-night to dinner, so as to let the boss and Agnes congratulate you.”
My employment began the first of the year, at which time the paper came
into the hands of its new proprietor; and it amuses me to recall him as
he sat at his desk that first day, thrumming it nervously, and trying
to dictate an editorial on The Outlook for the New Year. A more
hopeless bit of composition I have seldom read, and four times it was
rewritten as I built it into shape.
The man has no more sense of form than he has of English. Even worse,
he is almost without ideas. It has become his invariable custom to
remark to me suavely, as he takes his seat at his desk about two
o’clock, “Dr. Hartzmann, possibly you can suggest a good subject for me
to write about to-day?” And when I propose one, he continues: “That is
satisfactory. Jot down what you think I had better say, while I run
over my mail.” An hour later I lay the typewritten sheets before him,
and, after reading them with the most evident pleasure, he puts his
initials at the top and sends the editorial out to the managing editor;
to have a second pleasure when, after two hours, the galley slips of
proof come back to him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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