Once a Week by A. A. Milne
THE NEWSPAPER PROPRIETOR
The great Hector Strong, lord of journalism and swayer of empires, pacedthe floor of his luxurious apartment with bowed head, his corrugatedcountenance furrowed with lines of anxiety. He had just returned from alunch with all his favourite advertisers ... but it was not this whichtroubled him. He was thinking out a new policy for _The Daily Vane_.
Suddenly he remembered something. Coming up to town in his third motor,he had glanced through the nineteen periodicals which his house hadpublished that morning, and in one case had noted matter for seriouscriticism. This was obviously the first business he must deal with.
He seated himself at his desk and pushed the bell marked "38." Instantlya footman presented himself with a tray of sandwiches.
"What do you want?" said Strong coldly.
"You rang for me, sir," replied the trembling menial.
"Go away," said Strong. Recognizing magnanimously, however, that themistake was his own, he pressed bell "28." In another moment the editorof _Sloppy Chunks_ was before him.
"In to-day's number," said Strong, as he toyed with a blue pencil, "youapologize for a mistake in last week's number." He waited sternly.
"It was a very bad mistake, sir, I'm afraid. We did a great injusticeto----"
"You know my rule," said Strong. "The mistake of last week I could haveoverlooked. The apology of this week is a more serious matter. You willask for a month's salary on your way out." He pressed a button and theeditor disappeared through the trap-door.
Alone again, Hector Strong thought keenly for a moment. Then he pressedbell "38." Instantly a footman presented himself with a tray ofsandwiches.
"What do you mean by this?" roared Strong, his iron self-control for amoment giving way.
"I b-beg your pardon, sir," stammered the man. "I th-thought----"
"Get out!" As the footman retired, Strong passed his hand across hisforehead. "My memory is bad to-day," he murmured, and pushed bell "48."
A tall thin man entered.
"Ah, good afternoon, Mr. Brownlow," said the Proprietor. He toyed withhis blue pencil. "Let me see, which of our papers are under your chargeat the moment?"
Mr. Brownlow reflected.
"Just now," he said, "I am editing _Snippety Snips_, _The Whoop_, _TheGirls' Own Aunt_, _Parings_, _Slosh_, _The Sunday Sermon_, and _BackChat_."
"Ah! Well, I want you to take on _Sloppy Chunks_ too for a little while.Mr. Symes has had to leave us."
"Yes, sir." Mr. Brownlow bowed and moved to the door.
"By the way," Strong said, "your last number of _Slosh_ was very good.Very good indeed. I congratulate you. Good day."
Left alone, Hector Strong, lord of journalism and swayer of empires,resumed his pacings. His two mistakes with the bell told him that he wasdistinctly not himself this afternoon. Was it only the need of a newpolicy for _The Vane_ which troubled him? Or was it----
Could it be Lady Dorothy?
Lady Dorothy Neal was something of an enigma to Hector Strong. He wasmaking more than a million pounds a year, and yet she did not want tomarry him. Sometimes he wondered if the woman were quite sane. Yet, mador sane, he loved her.
A secretary knocked and entered. He waited submissively for half an houruntil the Proprietor looked up.
"Well?"
"Lady Dorothy Neal would like to see you for a moment, sir."
"Show her in."
Lady Dorothy came in brightly.
"What nice-looking men you have here," she said. "Who is the one in theblue waistcoat? He has curly hair."
"You didn't come to talk about _him_?" said Hector reproachfully.
"I didn't come to talk _to_ him really, but if you keep me waiting halfan hour---- Why, what are you doing?"
Strong looked up from the note he was writing. The tender lines had gonefrom his face, and he had become the stern man of action again.
"I am giving instructions that the services of my commissionaire,hall-boy, and fifth secretary will no longer be required."
"Don't do that," pleaded Dorothy.
Strong tore up the note and turned to her. "What do you want of me?" heasked.
She blushed and looked down. "I--I have written a--a play," shefaltered.
He smiled indulgently. He did not write plays himself, but he knew thatother people did.
"When does it come off?" he asked.
"The manager says it will have to at the end of the week. It came _on_ aweek ago."
"Well," he smiled, "if people don't want to go, I can't make them."
"Yes, you can," she said boldly.
He gave a start. His brain working at lightning speed saw thepossibilities in an instant. At one stroke he could win Lady Dorothy'sgratitude, provide _The Daily Vane_ with a temporary policy, and give aconvincing exhibition of the power of his press.
"Oh, Mr. Strong----"
"Hector," he whispered. As he rose from his desk to go to her, heaccidentally pressed the button of the trap-door. The next moment he wasalone.
. . . . .
"That the British public is always ready to welcome the advent of aclean and wholesome home-grown play is shown by the startling success of_Christina's Mistake_, which is attracting such crowds to The King'severy night." So wrote _The Daily Vane_, and continued in the samestrain for a column.
"Clubland is keenly exercised," wrote _The Evening Vane_, "over aproblem of etiquette which arises in the Second Act of _Christina'sMistake_, the great autumn success at The King's Theatre. The point isshortly this. Should a woman ..." And so on.
"A pretty little story is going the rounds," said _Slosh_, "anent thatcharming little lady, Estelle Rito, who plays the part of a governess in_Christina's Mistake_, for which ('Manager' Barodo informs me) advancebooking up to Christmas has already been taken. It seems that Miss Rito,when shopping in the purlieus of Bond Street ..."
_Sloppy Chunks_ had a joke which set all the world laughing. It wascalled----
"BETWEEN THE ACTS
_Flossie._ 'Who's the lady in the box with Mr. Johnson?'
_Gussie._ 'Hush! It's his wife!'
And Flossie giggled so much that she could hardly listen to the last Act of _Christina's Mistake_, which she had been looking forward to for weeks!"
_The Sunday Sermon_ offered free tickets to a hundred unmarried suburbangirls, to which class _Christina's Mistake_ might be supposed to make aspecial religious appeal. But they had to collect coupons first for _TheSunday Sermon_.
And, finally, _The Times_, of two months later, said:
"A marriage has been arranged between Lady Dorothy Neal, daughter of theEarl of Skye, and the Hon. Geoffrey Bollinger."
. . . . .
Than a successful revenge nothing is sweeter in life. Hector Strong wasnot the man to spare anyone who had done him an injury. Yet I think hismethod of revenging himself upon Lady Dorothy savoured of thediabolical. He printed a photograph of her in _The Daily PictureGallery_. It was headed "The Beautiful Lady Dorothy Neal."