Chapter CLXXIV: Section 11: So Thyrsis moved one step higher yet up the ladder of

success. The younger Macintyre occupied half a block of mansion up on Riverside Drive--just across the street from the town-house of Barry Creston’s father. Thyrsis found himself in an entrance-hall where wonderful pictures loomed vaguely in a dim, religious light; and a silent footman took his cap, and then escorted him by a soft, plush-covered stairway to the apartments of “Billy”, who was being helped into a dress-suit by his valet. Thyrsis, alas, had no dress-suit, and no valet to help him into it, but he sat on the edge of a big leather chair and proceeded to “throw a little Socialism” at his host. Then they went down stairs, and there were Morris and Hemingway, of the editorial staff, and “Buddie” Comings, most popular of novelists, and “Bob” Desmond, most famous of illustrators. And a little later on came Macintyre the elder, who had also been judged to stand in need of some Socialism.

Macintyre the elder was white-haired and rosy-cheeked. He had begun life as an emigrant-boy, running errands for a book-shop. In course of time he had become a partner, and then had started a cheap magazine for the printing of advertisements. From this had come the reprinting of cheap books for premiums; until now, after forty years, Macintyre’s was one of the leading publishing-concerns of the country. Recently the important discovery had been made that the printing of half-inch advertisements headed “FITS” and “OBESITY” prevented the securing of full-page advertisements about automobiles. The former kind was therefore being diverted to the religious papers of the country, whose subscribers were now getting the “blood of the lamb” diluted with twenty-five per cent. alcohol and one and three-fourths per cent. opium. But such facts were not allowed to interfere with the optimistic philosophy of “Macintyre’s Monthly”.

The elder Macintyre seemed to Thyrsis the most naïve and lovable old soul he had encountered in many a year. When he espied Thyrsis, he waited for no preliminaries, but went up to him as he stood by the fire-place, and put an arm about him, and led him off to a seat by the window. “I want to talk to you,” said he.

“My boy,” he went on, “I read that article of yours.”

“Which one?” asked Thyrsis.

“The last one. And you know, Billy’s got to stop putting things like that in the magazine!”

“What!” cried Thyrsis, alarmed.

“I won’t have it! He must not print that article!”

“But he’s accepted it!”

“I know. But he should have consulted me.”

“But--but I wrote it at his order. And he promised to pay me--”

“Oh, that’s all right,” said the old gentleman, with a genial smile. “We’ll pay for it, of course.”

There was a moment’s pause, while Thyrsis caught his breath.

“My boy,” continued the other, “that’s a terrible article!”

“Um,” said the author--“possibly.”

“Why do you write such things?”

“But isn’t it true, sir?”

Mr. Macintyre pondered. “You know,” he said, “I think you are a very clever fellow, and you know a lot; much more than I do, I’ve no doubt. But what I don’t understand is, why don’t you put it into a book?”

“Into a book?” echoed Thyrsis, perplexed.

“Yes,” explained the other--“then it won’t hurt anybody but yourself. Why should you try to get it into my magazine, and scare away my half-million subscribers?”