Carmen Ariza Part 157

"I have found out what news is," Carmen resumed. "It is wholly _a human invention_! It is the published vagaries of the carnal mind. In the yellow journal it is the red-inked, screaming report of the tragedies of sin. I asked Mr. Fallom if he knew anything about mental laws, and the terrible results of mental suggestion in his paper's almost hourly heralding of murder, theft, and l.u.s.t. But he only laughed and said that the lurid reports of crime tended to keep people alive to what was going on about them. He couldn't see that he was making a terrible reality of every sort of evil, and holding it so constantly before an ignorant, credulous world's eyes that little else could be seen. The moral significance of his so-called news reports had no meaning whatsoever for him!"

"Did you go to see Adams?" asked Haynerd, not believing that she would have dared visit that journalistic demon.

"Yes," answered the girl, to his utter astonishment. "Mr. Adams said he had no time for maudlin sentimentalism or petticoat sophistry. He was in the business of collecting and disseminating news, and he wanted that news to go _shrieking_ out of his office! Here is one of his afternoon extras. You can see how the report of an Italian wife-murder shrieks in red letters an inch high on the very first page. But has Mr. Adams thereby seen and met his opportunity? Or has he further prost.i.tuted journalism by this ignorant act?"

"The people want it, Carmen," said Hitt slowly, though his voice seemed not to sound a real conviction.

"They do not!" cried Carmen, her eyes snapping. "If the church and the press were not mortally and morally blind, they would see the deadly destruction which they are accomplis.h.i.+ng by shrieking from pulpit and sanctum: 'Evil is real! Pietro Lasanni cuts his wife's throat! Evil is real! Look, and be convinced!'"

"But, Carmen, while what you say is doubtless true, it must be admitted that the average man, especially the day laborer, reads his yellow journal avidly, and--"

"Yes, he does," returned the girl. "And why? The average man, as you call him, is a victim of _the most pernicious social system ever devised by the human mind_! Swept along in the mad rush of commercialism, or ground down beneath its ruthless wheels, his jaded, jarred nerves and his tired mind cry out for artificial stimulation, for something that will for a moment divert his wearied thought from his hopeless situation. The Church offers him little that is tangible this side of the grave. But whiskey, drugs, and yellow journalism do. Can't you see, Mr. Hitt--can't you, Ned--that the world's cry for sensationalism is but a cry for something that will make it forget its misery for a brief moment? The average man feels the superficiality of the high speed of this century of mad rush; he longs as never before for a foundation of truth upon which to rest; he is tired of theological fairy-tales; he is desperately tired of sin, and sickness, and dying. He cares little about a promised life beyond the grave. He wants help here and now to solve his problems. What does the press offer him? Little beyond a recount of his own daily miseries, and reports of graft and greed, and accounts of vulgar displays of material wealth that he has not and can not have. And these reports divert his jaded mind for a moment and give him a false, fleeting sense of pleasure--and then leave him sunk deeper than before in despair, and in hatred of existing conditions!"

"The girl is right," said Hitt, turning to Haynerd. "And we knew it, of course. But we have let our confidence slip. This steam-calliope age reflects the human-mind struggle for something other than its own unsatisfying ideas. It turns to thrills; it expresses its restlessness and dissatisfaction with itself by futurist and cubist art, so-called; by the rattle and vibration of machinery; by flaring billboards that insult every sense of the artistic; and by the murk and muck of yellow journalism, with its hideous colored supplements and spine-thrilling tales. So much for the reader. But the publisher himself--well, he battens materially, of course, upon the tired victims of our degrading social system. He sees but the sordid revenue in dollars and cents.

Beyond that his morals do not extend."

"And they can't," said Haynerd. "Decent journalism wouldn't pay--doesn't--never did! Other papers have tried it, and miserably failed!"

"Then," returned Hitt calmly, after a moment's reflection, "oil will meet the deficit. As long as my paternal wells flow in Ohio the Express will issue forth as a clean paper, a dignified, law-supporting purveyor to a taste for better things--even if it has to create that taste. Its columns will be closed to salacious sensation, and its advertising pages will be barred to vice, liquor, tobacco, and drugs."

"Good!" cried Carmen. "And now we've got to get right down to business."

"Just so," said Hitt, rising. "It is my intention to issue the Express one more week on its present basis, and then turn it into a penny morning daily. I have seen and talked with its staff. They're good men. I'm going to a.s.sume the management myself, with you, Carmen, as my first a.s.sistant. Haynerd will become city editor. Now, what suggestions have you?"

"Oh, lots!" cried the girl enthusiastically. "But, first, how far may I go?"

"The limit," replied Hitt, rubbing his hands together. "You are my brain, so to speak, henceforth. As to financial resources, I am prepared to dump a hundred thousand dollars right into the Express before a cent of revenue comes back."

"Another question, then: will you issue a Sunday edition?" she asked.

"For a while, yes," he said. "We'll see how it works, for I have some ideas to try out."

"Well, then," resumed the girl eagerly, "I want this paper to be for _all_ the people; to be independent in the truest sense of the term; and to be absolutely beyond the influence of political and religious sectarianism--you'll soon enough learn what that will cost you--to be an active, constructive force in this great city, and a patient, tireless, loving educator."

"Humph!" grunted Haynerd, although he was listening very carefully.

"The Express will succeed," the girl went on, without noticing him, "because our thought regarding it is successful. _We_ have already succeeded; and that success will be externalized in our work. It makes no difference what the people may think of _us_; but it makes a lot of difference what _we_ think of _them_ and _ourselves_. Now, our program is unlimited. We a.s.sume superiority over adverse conditions, and we claim success, because we know that these things are mental, and that they are divinely ours. Lot's wife didn't have the sort of confidence that wins--she looked back. Our bridges are burnt behind us now. But there is no doubt of the outcome. And so there is no doubt lurking in us to take the edge off our efforts, is there? The thought regarding the Express has not been timidly born within us; it has come forth flas.h.i.+ng vigor! Yes it has, Ned, despite your doubts! And we have within us a power mightier than any force outside of us. That is the knowledge of infinite mind's omnipotence, and our ability to use the Christ-principle to meet _every_ problem. Is it not so?"

Haynerd began to rouse up with a returning sense of confidence. Hitt smiled and nodded to Carmen. The girl went on rapidly and eagerly:

"We are going to give the people news from a new standpoint, aren't we? We are not going on the a.s.sumption that the report of mankind's errors is the report of real news. The only thing that is really new is _good_. We'll report that. When I was in Mr. Adams's office two items came in over the 'phone. One was the report of a jewel robbery, and the other was an announcement of the draining by the Government of submerged lands in Louisiana, so as to give an additional opportunity to those seeking farms. Which item did Mr. Adams put in bold type on the front page? The first, yes. I was unable to locate the latter anywhere in the paper, although it was a timely bit of news."

"Very true," replied Hitt.

"Now another thing," continued the girl, "I want the Sunday edition of the Express to contain a resume of the important and vital news of the week, with the very clearest, most impartial and enlightening editorial comment upon it. This calls for nice discrimination in the selection of those items for our comment. It means, however, the best practical education for the people. This was John Ruskin's idea, and certainly is a splendid one. Still another thing, the Express will stand shoulder to shoulder with the women for equal suffrage. Are you agreed?"

"Most emphatically!" declared Hitt. "It is the women who will clean up and regenerate this world, not the men. Reform is now in the hands of the women. They have been held back long enough. And India proves that backward women mean a backward nation."

"Then," continued Carmen, "make a distinct Women's Department in the Express, and put Miss Wall on the staff."

"Very well. Next?" inquired Hitt, smiling.

"A daily educational department for foreigners, our immigrants, giving them every possible aid in suggestions regarding their naturalization, the languages, hotels, boarding houses, employment, and so on."

"Done," said Hitt. "And what else?"

"The Express is going to maintain a social service, and night schools.

It is going to establish vacation and permanent homes for girls. It is going to provide for vocational training. It is going to establish a lecture bureau--for lectures on _good_. It is going to build a model city for workingmen. Then it is going to found a model city for everybody. It is going to establish clubs and meeting places for workingmen, places where they may meet, and play games, and read, and have social intercourse, and practical instruction. It is going to establish the same for young boys. It is going to take the lead for civic betterment in this city, and for child-welfare, and for--"

By this time Haynerd was sitting erect and staring in bewilderment at the girl. "What do you mean?" he sputtered. "Aren't you wandering somewhat beyond strict newspaper limits? We are in the news business!"

"And haven't I told you," returned the girl promptly, "that the only thing new in this world is _good_? Our news is going to be _good_ news--the collection and dissemination of _good_ to all mankind.

People who read our paper will no longer feel that it is dangerous to be alive, but a glorious privilege. I am simply laying out our program. And Mr. Hitt said I could go the limit, you know."

Hitt had caught the girl's infectious enthusiasm, and his face was beaming.

"That's it!" he exclaimed. "It's your unlimited thought, Carmen, that we old dry-bones want! I understand you!"

"Of course you do!" she cried. "And so does dear old protesting Ned.

Why, what is money? What is anything in this life, compared with real service to our fellow-men? _The Express is not in business to make money!_ It is in the business of collecting and scattering the news of good. Its dividends will be the happiness and joy it gives to mankind.

Will it fail? It simply can't! For _good is the greatest success there is_!"

It is likely that Hitt did not catch the full meaning of the girl's words; and it is certain that Haynerd did not. But her boundless enthusiasm did penetrate in large degree into their souls, and they ceased to insist on the query, Will it pay? The broader outlook was already beginning to return profits to these men, as the newer definition of 'news' occupied their thought. Fear and doubt fled.

Seizing their hats, they bade Carmen go with them to inspect the plant of the Express, and meet its staff.

"There's a question I'd like to ask," said Haynerd, as they pursued their way toward their recent purchase. "I want to know what our editorial policy will be. Do we condone the offenses of our grafters and spoilsmen by remaining silent regarding their crimes? Or do we expose them?"

"We will let their guilt expose and kill itself," quickly returned Carmen. "How? Well, you will see."

A few minutes later they entered the gloomy, dust-laden offices of the Express. Hitt's spirits sank again as he looked about him. But Carmen seemed to suffer no loss of enthusiasm. After a mental appraisal of the dingy, uninviting environment she exclaimed: "Well, one nice thing about this is that we don't have much to start with!"

Hitt reflected upon her cryptical remark, and then laughed.

Carlson joined them at this juncture. It was evident that the sale of his plant had removed a heavy load from his shoulders.

"My best reporter was out yesterday when you called," he said, addressing Hitt. "He--well, he was a little the worse for wear. But he's in now. Come into my office and I'll send for him."

In a few minutes a tall, boyish fellow responded to the editor's summons. He must have been well under twenty, thought Hitt, marveling that so young a man should be regarded as Carlson's best news gatherer. But his wonder grew apace when the editor introduced him as Mr. Sidney Ames.

"Huh!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Haynerd. "Know J. Wilton?"

The lad smiled pallidly, as he bent his gaze upon Carmen, and addressed his reply to her. "My governor," he said laconically.

"The deuce he is!" returned Haynerd, beginning to bristle.

Carlson dismissed the reporter, and turned to the curious group.

"The boy has the making of a fine newspaper man in him. Has something of his father's terrible energy. But he's doomed. Whiskey and morphine got him. He used to come down here before his father threw him out. I let him write little articles for the Express when he was barely sixteen years old; and they were mighty good, too. But he got mixed up in some scandal, and J. Wilton cut him off. The boy always did drink, I guess. But since his family troubles he's been on the straight road to the insane asylum. It's too bad. But you'll keep him, I suppose?"