New Grub Street - George Gissing (e book reader free TXT) 📗

Dora was joining in the merriment, and for a minute or two nothing but bursts of laughter could be heard.

“Now do let me go on,” implored the man of projects, when the noise subsided. “That’s only one change, though a most important one. What I next propose is this:⁠—I know you will laugh again, but I will demonstrate to you that I am right. No article in the paper is to measure more than two inches in length, and every inch must be broken into at least two paragraphs.”

“Superb!”

“But you are joking, Mr. Whelpdale!” exclaimed Dora.

“No, I am perfectly serious. Let me explain my principle. I would have the paper address itself to the quarter-educated; that is to say, the great new generation that is being turned out by the Board schools, the young men and women who can just read, but are incapable of sustained attention. People of this kind want something to occupy them in trains and on buses and trams. As a rule they care for no newspapers except the Sunday ones; what they want is the lightest and frothiest of chit-chatty information⁠—bits of stories, bits of description, bits of scandal, bits of jokes, bits of statistics, bits of foolery. Am I not right? Everything must be very short, two inches at the utmost; their attention can’t sustain itself beyond two inches. Even chat is too solid for them: they want chit-chat.”

Jasper had begun to listen seriously.

“There’s something in this, Whelpdale,” he remarked.

“Ha! I have caught you?” cried the other delightedly. “Of course there’s something in it?”

“But⁠—” began Dora, and checked herself.

“You were going to say⁠—” Whelpdale bent towards her with deference.

“Surely these poor, silly people oughtn’t to be encouraged in their weakness.”

Whelpdale’s countenance fell. He looked ashamed of himself. But Jasper came speedily to the rescue.

“That’s twaddle, Dora. Fools will be fools to the world’s end. Answer a fool according to his folly; supply a simpleton with the reading he craves, if it will put money in your pocket. You have discouraged poor Whelpdale in one of the most notable projects of modern times.”

“I shall think no more of it,” said Whelpdale, gravely. “You are right, Miss Dora.”

Again Jasper burst into merriment. His sister reddened, and looked uncomfortable. She began to speak timidly:

“You said this was for reading in trains and buses?”

Whelpdale caught at hope.

“Yes. And really, you know, it may be better at such times to read chit-chat than to be altogether vacant, or to talk unprofitably. I am not sure; I bow to your opinion unreservedly.”

“So long as they only read the paper at such times,” said Dora, still hesitating. “One knows by experience that one really can’t fix one’s attention in travelling; even an article in a newspaper is often too long.”

“Exactly! And if you find it so, what must be the case with the mass of untaught people, the quarter-educated? It might encourage in some of them a taste for reading⁠—don’t you think?”

“It might,” assented Dora, musingly. “And in that case you would be doing good!”

“Distinct good!”

They smiled joyfully at each other. Then Whelpdale turned to Jasper:

“You are convinced that there is something in this?”

“Seriously, I think there is. It would all depend on the skill of the fellows who put the thing together every week. There ought always to be one strongly sensational item⁠—we won’t call it article. For instance, you might display on a placard: ‘What the Queen eats!’ or ‘How Gladstone’s collars are made!’⁠—things of that kind.”

“To be sure, to be sure. And then, you know,” added Whelpdale, glancing anxiously at Dora, “when people had been attracted by these devices, they would find a few things that were really profitable. We would give nicely written little accounts of exemplary careers, of heroic deeds, and so on. Of course nothing whatever that could be really demoralising⁠—cela va sans dire. Well, what I was going to say was this: would you come with me to the office of Chat, and have a talk with my friend Lake, the subeditor? I know your time is very valuable, but then you’re often running into the Will-o’-the-Wisp, and Chat is just upstairs, you know.”

“What use should I be?”

“Oh, all the use in the world. Lake would pay most respectful attention to your opinion, though he thinks so little of mine. You are a man of note, I am nobody. I feel convinced that you could persuade the Chat people to adopt my idea, and they might be willing to give me a contingent share of contingent profits, if I had really shown them the way to a good thing.”

Jasper promised to think the matter over. Whilst their talk still ran on this subject, a packet that had come by post was brought into the room. Opening it, Milvain exclaimed:

“Ha! this is lucky. There’s something here that may interest you, Whelpdale.”

“Proofs?”

“Yes. A paper I have written for The Wayside.” He looked at Dora, who smiled. “How do you like the title?⁠—‘The Novels of Edwin Reardon!’ ”

“You don’t say so!” cried the other. “What a good-hearted fellow you are, Milvain! Now that’s really a kind thing to have done. By Jove! I must shake hands with you; I must indeed! Poor Reardon! Poor old fellow!”

His eyes gleamed with moisture. Dora, observing this, looked at him so gently and sweetly that it was perhaps well he did not meet her eyes; the experience would have been altogether too much for him.

“It has been written for three months,” said Jasper, “but we have held it over for a practical reason. When I was engaged upon it, I went to see Mortimer, and asked him if there was any chance of a new edition of Reardon’s books. He had no idea the poor fellow was dead, and the news seemed really to affect him. He promised to consider whether it would be worth while trying a new issue, and before long I heard from him that he would bring out the