Arms and the Woman

Pembroke lay back and laughed. "You haven't thanked me yet."

"I must get a new tailor," said I. "What! shall I pay a tailor to make

a well-dressed man out of me, and then become an object of charity? Do

I look, then, like a man who is desperately in need of money?"

"No, you don't look it. That's because you are clever. But what is

your salary to a man of your brains?"

"It is bread and butter and lodging."

He laughed again. To laugh seemed to be a part of his business.

"Jack, I haven't a soul in the world but you. I have only known you

three days, but it seems that I have known you all my life. I have so

much money that I cannot even fritter away the income."

"It must be a sad life," said I.

"And if you do not accept the sum in the spirit it is given, I'll

double it, and then you'll have trouble. You will be a rich man, then,

with all a rich man's cares and worries."

"You ought to have a trustee to take care of your money."

"It would be a small matter to bribe him off, Jack, of course, you do

not need the money now, but that is no sign you may not in the days to

come. I have known many journalists; they were ever improvident. I

want to make an exception in your case. You understand; the money is

for your old age."

"Let me tell you why a newspaper man is improvident. He earns money

only to spend it. He has a fine scorn for money as money. He cares

more for what a dollar spent has bought than what five saved might buy."

"Poor creditors!" was the melancholy interpolation.

I passed over this, and went on: "It is the work which absorbs his

whole attention. He begins at the bottom of the ladder, which is in

the garret. First, he is running about the streets at two and three in

the morning, in rain and snow and fog. The contact with the lower

classes teaches him many things. He becomes the friend of the

policeman and the vagabond. And as his mind grows broader his heart

grows in proportion. It is the comparing of the great and small which

makes us impartial and philosophical. Well, soon the reporter gets

better assignments and shorter hours. He meets the noted men and women

of the city. Suddenly from the city editor's desk his ambition turns

to Washington. He succeeds there. He now comes into the presence of

distinguished ambassadors, ministers and diplomatists. He acquires a

polish and a smattering of the languages. His work becomes a feature

of his paper. The president chooses him for a friend; he comes and

goes as he wills. Presently his eye furtively wanders to Europe. The

highest ambition of a journalist, next to being a war correspondent, is

to have a foreign post. In this capacity he meets the notable men and

women of all countries; he speaks to princes and grand dukes and

crowned heads. In a way he becomes a personage himself, a man whom

great men seek. And he speaks of the world as the poet did of the fall

of Pompeii, 'Part of which I was and all of which I saw.' Ah," as my

mind ran back over my own experiences, "what man with this to gain

would care for money; a thing which would dull his imagination and take

away the keen edge of ambition, and make him play a useless part in

this kingly drama of life!"