Thus, rocking between anger against Mr. Shillito and pity for him, Ridley ate his biscuits and cheese, drank his excellent coffee, put his dishes on Miss Green’s desk to be washed, and composed himself for his invariable twenty-minute after-lunch sleep in his armchair.
MISS GREEN COUGHED discreetly. “Professor Vambrace is waiting,” she said.
Ridley leaped from his chair. He hated being caught thus; he had an uneasy conviction that he was unsightly when asleep. And he had overslept by ten minutes. “Keep him till I ring,” he said.
When Miss Green had gone he combed his hair and rinsed his removable bridge in his tiny washroom. Sitting at his desk, he fussed with some papers, but he could not calm himself. He was disproportionately ashamed of having been found asleep. His nap, like his lunch, was no guilty secret, but he hated to be caught unprepared. How long had Miss Green watched him, perhaps listened to his snores, considered the dry and iridescent matter, like the sheen on a butterfly’s wing, which formed on his lower lip when he slept? To escape this uncomfortable train of thought he rang his bell, and Professor Vambrace stalked from the door to the space before his desk, and glared down upon him.
“Well,” he said, and his deep voice vibrated with anger, “have you decided what you are going to do?”
“As I have no idea what you are talking about, Professor,” said Ridley, “I can’t say that I have. Won’t you sit down?”
The Professor sat, majestically. “I do not believe you, but I’ll soon tell you what I’m talking about,” said he, “and I’ll tell you what you’re going to do, as well.”
Walter Vambrace was a tall, gaunt man who looked like a tragedian of the old school; his large, dark eyes glowed balefully under his demonic eyebrows. From an inner pocket he produced a wallet, and drew a clipping from it with great care. Ridley, to whom the faces of newspapers were as familiar as the faces of his friends, saw at once that the clipping was from The Bellman, and prepared himself for trouble.
“In the next three issues of your paper you will publish this, and the retraction and apology which I shall also give you, in large type at the top of your front page,” said Professor Vambrace.
“Aha,” said Ridley, in a noncommittal tone. “May I see the clipping, please?”
“Do you mean to tell me that you are not aware of its contents?” said the Professor, working his eyebrows menacingly.
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Good God, don’t you read your own newspaper?”
“Of course I do, but I still don’t know what has offended you.”
“Refresh your recollection, then,” said the Professor, with a rich assumption of irony, and handed Ridley the scrap of newsprint upon which was printed the engagement notice with which the reader has already been made familiar.
The editor read it carefully. “This seems quite in order,” said he.
“In order! There is not one word of truth in it from beginning to end. It is a vile calumny!”
“You mean that your daughter is not engaged to Mr. Bridgetower?”
“Is not, and never will be, and this damnable libel exposes me and my wife and my daughter to the ridicule of the entire community.”
Ridley’s heart sank within him. Physicians say that this cannot happen, but editors know a sensation which may not be described in any other phrase.
“That is most regrettable. I shall do everything possible to find out how this notice came to appear in print. But I can assure you now that we have a system which provides every possible safeguard against this sort of thing, and I cannot understand how it could have failed.”
Professor Vambrace’s expression, which had been one of anger, now deepened to a horrible grimace in which rage and scorn were mingled. “You have a system!” he roared. “Read it again, you fool, and then tell me, if you dare, that you have a system, or anything except the mischievous incompetence of your disgusting trade to explain the insult!”
Ridley was thoroughly angry himself, now, but caution was ingrained in his nature, and he turned his eyes once again to the clipping.
“To take place November 31st,” hissed the Professor. “And when, you jackanapes, is November 31st? Is that date provided for in your system? Hey?” He was shouting, now.
All Ridley’s anger was drained out of him, and a great but not unfamiliar weariness took its place. He was a good editor, and when praise came to The Bellman he took it on behalf of the staff; when blame came to it, he took that alone. He was, in law and in his own philosophy of journalism, personally responsible for every word which appeared in every issue of his paper. He looked into the eyes of his visitor and spoke the speech which was obligatory on him on such occasions.
“I cannot tell you how much I regret this,” he said; “however, it has happened, and although this is my first knowledge of it, I accept the full blame. Someone has played a tasteless joke on the paper, and, of course, upon you and your family as well. I am deeply sorry that it has happened, and I will join you in doing everything that can be done to find the joker.”
“Pah!” said Professor Vambrace, with such violence that quite a lot of spittle shot across Ridley’s desk and settled upon the papers there. “What kind of newspaper do you call this, where nobody knows how many days there are in November? That alone should have been enough to warn any intelligent person, even a newspaper editor, that the thing was a vile hoax. Quite apart from the ludicrous implication in the notice itself; whatever made you think that my daughter would marry that nincompoop?”
“As I have explained, I have not seen this notice until this moment. And how should I know whom your daughter might or might not marry?”
“Don’t you see what goes in your own paper?”
“I see very little of it, and certainly not the engagement notices. These matters are left in the hands of our staff.”
“A fine staff it must be! The thing is preposterous on the face of it. Do you know this Bridgetower?”
“I have met him two or three times.”
“Well? An idiot, nothing better. What would my daughter be doing with such a fellow?”
“I do not know your daughter.”
“Do you imply that she would take up with any simpleton who came along?”
“Professor Vambrace, this is beside the point.”
“It is not beside the point. It is the whole point. You have linked my daughter with this fellow Bridgetower. You have coupled them in the public mouth.”
“I have done nothing of the sort. The Bellman has been the victim of a practical joke; so have you. We must do what we can to set matters right.”
“Exactly. Therefore you will publish this notice on your front page, along with the apology which I have here, for the next three days, beginning today.”
“We shall publish a correction.…”
“Not a correction, an apology.”
“A correction, but not on the front page, and not for three days.”
“For three days, beginning today.”
“Impossible. The paper has gone to press.”
“The front page.”
“The page on which these announcements appear. For you must understand that our correction will appear for one day only, in the same place that the erroneous notice appeared.”
“That is what you will publish.” The Professor pushed a piece of paper at Ridley. It began rather in the rhythm of a Papal Encyclical: With the uttermost apology and regret we make unqualified retraction; Ridley read no more.
“Look here, Professor,” said he, “we’ve both been made to look like fools, and we don’t want to make matters worse. Leave this matter in my hands, and I’ll deal with it in a way that will make an adequate correction and attract no unnecessary attention.”
“This will be settled in my way, or I’ll take it to court,” said Professor Vambrace.
“All right, then, take it to court and be damned,” said Ridley.
The Professor glared horribly, but it
was the glare of a man who was wondering what to say next. Ridley saw that he had the advantage for the moment and followed up his lead.
“And spare me your histrionics,” said he; “I am not intimidated by them.”
This was a shrewd thrust, but tactically it was a mistake. The Professor was a keen amateur actor, and fancied himself as the “heavy” of the Salterton Little Theatre; Ridley’s remark disconcerted him, but deepened his anger. However, the editor had at last secured the upper hand, and he continued.
“You must understand that I have had more experience in these matters than you have.”
“That is a confession of incompetence rather than a reassurance,” said Vambrace.
“Kindly allow me to say what I have to say. The Bellman will not apologize, because it has acted in good faith, and is just as much a victim of this hoax as yourself. But we will correct the notice, printing the correction in the same place and in the same size of type as the original; we shall do this once only, for the notice appeared only once. If you will think about the matter calmly, you will see that this is best; you do not want an undignified fuss, and you do not want people to hear about this false engagement notice who have not heard of it already. Comparatively few people will have seen it.”
“My family is not utterly obscure,” said the Professor dryly, “and the Personal Notices are one of the few parts of your paper which are widely read. Scores of people have been asking me about this already—”
“Scores, Professor Vambrace? Did I understand you to say scores?”
“Yes, sir, scores was the word I used.”
“Now, now, precisely how many people have spoken to you about it?”
“Don’t take that tone with me, if you please.”
“My experience has been that when angry men talk about scores of people they mean perhaps half-a-dozen.”
“Do you doubt my word?”
“I think that your annoyance has led you to exaggerate.”
“A man in your trade is hardly in a position to accuse anyone of exaggeration.”
“Now let us be reasonable. Of course we shall do everything in our power to find out who perpetrated this joke—”
“I don’t call it a joke.”
“Nor do I. This outrage, then.”
“That is a better word. And what do you propose to do?”
It was here that Mr. Ridley lost the advantage he had gained. He had no idea what he proposed to do. Therefore he looked as wise as he could, and said, “That will take careful consideration. I shall have to have a talk with some of the other men on the paper.”
“Let us do so at once, then.”
“I shall talk to them later this afternoon.”
“Let me make it plain to you that at this moment my daughter and my whole family rest under a vile imputation of which this newspaper is the source. Anything that is to be done must be done at once. So get your men in here now, and I will talk to them just long enough to find out whether you really mean to do anything or whether you are stalling me off. And unless you have an immediate plan of action I shall go straight from this office to my lawyer.”
The Professor had the upper hand again, and this time he did not mean to lose it. Ridley rang for Miss Green. “Will you find Mr. Marryat and ask him if he will join us here,” said he; “it is urgent.” When the secretary had gone he and the Professor sat in painful silence for perhaps three minutes until the door opened again, and the general manager of The Bellman appeared.
Mr. A. J. Marryat’s principal interest was in advertising, and he had the advertising man’s optimism and self-assurance. He came in smiling and greeted the Professor warmly. He told him that he was looking well. “And how is Mrs. Vambrace?” said he.
“My wife is in bed, under strong sedatives, because of what you have done here,” replied Vambrace, and breathed noticeably and audibly through his nostrils.
Ridley took the general manager by the arm, guided him to a chair, and explained the trouble as briefly as he could.
Mr. Marryat’s rule was never to display perturbation. He continued to smile. “That’s bad,” he said, “but we’ll find out who did it, and then we’ll show him a joke or two.” He laughed comfortably at the prospect; but under cover of his bonhomie he was taking stock of the situation. Ridley, obviously, was in a tight spot or he would not be discussing a matter of this kind with himself in front of the injured party. Well, A. J. Marryat knew all there was to know about tight spots, and one of his most valuable pieces of knowledge was that the sharpest anger can be blunted by good humour, courtesy and a relaxed manner, all of which could be combined with a refusal to do anything you did not want to do. He turned to Ridley. “Let’s hear the details,” said he.
When he heard the details concerning November 31st, Mr. Marryat was disturbed, but his outer appearance of calm was maintained without a ruffle.
“That was inexcusable stupidity,” he said, “but I’m sure you know, Professor, how hard it is to get people to pay attention to things of that kind.”
“It is your work to do so, not mine,” said the Professor. “I am only concerned with the fact that your paper has involved my family in a scandal. My professional dignity and my family honour make it imperative that this announcement be denied, and a full apology made, with the least possible waste of time. I want that done in today’s paper.”
“That’s a mechanical impossibility,” said Mr. Marryat. “The presses will begin rolling in about fifteen minutes.”
“Presses can be stopped, can they not?”
“They can be stopped at very great expense.”
“Probably less than it will cost you if I take this matter to court.”
“Now just a minute, Professor. Let’s not be fantastic. Who’s talking about court?”
“Your associate, Mr. Ridley, told me to take my case to court and be damned.”
“I apologize,” said Ridley, “but you were very provocative. You called me a fool and a jackanapes, you know.”
“I did, and I see no reason to retract either term.”
“Oh, come now, Professor,” said Mr. Marryat, with his genial and ready laugh; “let’s not lose our perspective on this thing.”
“Mr. Marryat,” said the Professor, rising, “I have not come here to be cajoled or lectured. I came to tell you what you must do, and it is plain to me that you will twist and squirm all day to avoid doing it. I have no time to waste and this atmosphere is repugnant to me. You will shortly hear from my lawyers.” The Professor walked rapidly out of the room.
“WELL, HOW DO you like that?” said Mr. Marryat.
Mr. Ridley moaned, and wiped his brow.
“The gall of that guy,” said Mr. Marryat. “Professional dignity! Family honour! You’d think we did it on purpose. And what’s all this scandal he talks about? Do you know this fellow Bridgetower?”
“Yes. He’s a junior professor.”
“Well? Has he got two heads, or a common-law wife, or something?”
“So far as I know there’s nothing against him except that he is the son of old Mrs. Bridgetower.”
“That’s plenty, mind you. And Vambrace’s daughter, what about her?”
“I haven’t seen her for two or three years. I think she’s in the Waverley Library, somewhere, but I never meet her there. So far as I know she’s just a girl.”
“Probably she’s engaged to somebody else. That notice was somebody’s half-baked joke. Well, I’ll trace it. I’ll get busy on it right now, and if we hear anything from Vambrace’s lawyers, we can explain to them. They’ll soon put a stop to that talk about scandal.”
“I’d be grateful if you’d let me know anything you find out as soon as possible, A.J.,” said Ridley.
“At once,” said Marryat, smiling the smile of a man who knows that he has an office system which cannot go wrong.
IT WAS AN HOUR and a half later when Mr. Marryat returned. “Well,” he said, sitting down opposite Ridley’s desk, “this isn’t go
ing to be as easy as I thought.”
“What’s wrong?” said Ridley.
“If I’ve told them once, I’ve told them a million times that we have to have a record of every personal notice and classified ad that goes in the paper,” said Mr. Marryat. “When the yellow form is written out for the composing room a carbon copy is made on the blue form that goes into the files; the customer gets a pink form with all this on it, as a receipt. All three forms have to be initialed by the girl who takes the order, and the advertiser. You’d think it was fool-proof. But look at this.” He handed Ridley a blue form.
It bore the text of the offending engagement notice and some marks which meant nothing to the editor, but Mr. Marryat was already explaining them.