Mightier than the Sword

of all the years of time, he could have chosen the period in which he would live, he would have picked out the dawn of t

d new ideas, until quite suddenly, it seemed, the century turned the corner, and yesterday became old-fashio

enly obsolete; new phrases were coined, among which "Twencent" (an abbreviation for twentieth century, and a tribute to the snap and hustle with which the world was now expected to go) survived the longest; songs were sung at music-halls; there was a burst of cartoons on the subject; people referred jokingly to the last century, parodying the r

r talked of them before; when Socialism was burrowing and gnawing like a rat at the old, worn fabric of Society, urging the working-man to stand equal in Parliament with the noblest lords in the land. In the midst of all this there arose suddenly, born with the twentieth century, the Young Man. He had already come, answering the call of the country

sh and the sentiment and the lumber of the old customs, and borne above them all. He was set on a pinnacle, as the new type; the future of the world was said to be in the hands of the young men; the old m

ers, to call them "sir," to stand up when they came into a room, or raise his hat if they met in the streets, to offer his

er than yourself; it was heresy to think that you were as capable as the old men; youth had to

tion burst upon us with an astonishing vigour, taking possession of the new century, trampling down the false gods

own twenties and thirties, and he shone as the apostle of youth. The Young Man, from a neglected embryo, became a national asset

straining its muscles to the game of life—a whole nation of young men. It became the fashion to take America as a model. There was an invasion of boots and bicycles and cameras. "Look," every one cried, "see how they do things bet

th away. With them came loudly-striped shirts, multi-coloured socks, felt hats and lounge suits in city offices, and, later, soft-fronted shirts and black silk bows for evening wear. They opened London offices for New York firms, and sho

a vengeance, and it was a pantin

sandwiches were shown to us; and finally, as though having absorbed their nutriment, we h

he affected American ways; his[35] affirmative was "sure," and he wore his hair long and sleek, divided evenly i

omed him as a Type; he glorified him, and gave him high posts in the office of The Day. With the exception of Neckinger, th

hrey Quain, waiting on the outskirts, watching his opportunity, and meanwhile bending over the counter of the Easterham Gazette office, coat off and shirt sle

which means that he was to assist in setting up the paper in type. The editor, whose name was Worthing, walked about in a knickerbocker suit and a soft grey hat, and it was part of his business to obtain advertisements for the Gazette. The leading articles he wrote were always composed with one eye on the advertiser. In praising the laudable action of Council

rch services, and all the other activities of Easterham life. Sometimes during the week Beaver would swing himself astride a bicycle, as frayed and as shabby as himself, and pedal to Wimberly, or Pooleham, or further afield to Great Huxton for local meetings, all of which were of vast interest to the Easterham Gazette, since its copies went weekly—or were supposed to go—over the whole of the co

ly he found himself with sufficient interest to fill[37] a whole column, which dealt mainly with local gossip, and was called "The Easterham Letter." It was addressed always to the editor and was signed "P and Q." When he was not writing, he was addressing wrappers o

to the Easterham Gazette office, mysterious thin brown parcels the size of a column, and rather heavy. Simultaneously, all over the country, like parcels were being delivered, and, if by chance you compared an issue of the Easterham Gazette with any thirty local papers in the North, Sout

rom moulds, sent down from a London Agency which has made a mighty business of supplying general matter, from

uld be a good thing for the boy to have some association with the world of letters, however distant. Shortly afterwards, Quain senior had

want than a father who could fashion any kind of toy, from whistles to steamboats, out of a block of wood; who knew enough of elementary science to make a pin sail on water, by letting it rest on a cigarette p

th, too, and Henty, and took in the Boy's Own Paper, and, in short, did everything in the way of reading that a normal, happy, healthy-minded boy should do. "Keep clear of philos

d to find he could not enjoy Scott. He confided his distaste to his

3

el. "Don't be a literary snob, and pretend you enjoy the acquaintance of books

nce remark of his aunt that gave him the first glimpse. "You'll have to do something for yourself, Humphr

to people from father to son: that, in some mysterious, unthought-of way, when he was abo

m through her spectacles. "Young men Get On qui

t in life. It was as if his aunt had suddenly touched upon some internal button that had started off a driving-wheel within him, and set all the machinery of energy into movement. How did one "Get On" in the world? He be

ter than a man in the beginning of it. On the other hand, Bilson, with his large, shining shop, might be said to have "Got On," and just when he was half deciding that Bilson held the secret, Bilson suddenly went bankrupt, owing to the failure of some coffee plantations in Ceylon. I

d over three years, from seventeen to twenty, those three years when he was at t

deed, the notes were the outcome of the thoughts—of reading, and of cycling

er G

e settled down for ever to the meetings and the calls and the police-courts ("Harriet Higgins, 30, no fixed abode, charged wi

4

d remarked quite casually, "I'

d hat of no shape at all. Beaver took his pipe out of his mouth, and Humphrey n

owed a letter to Humphrey, who saw that it was from the "Special News

get it?" Hu

en writing in on the quiet for the last year. Fed

f you wanted to work in London," Humphrey said

ants a man who can take down shorthand ve

ice, with its Calendars and local Directories for years past on the shelf, and the pile of Gazettes

d Beaver, with the unmurmuring discipline of years which nothin

ought to have given him a month's notice. A week[42] would have been good enough for me if he wa

essly. "It is a Hole. He is a Pig..

y work," Bea

Besides, I don't want to

rned thi

ut local reporting. Would he have to work ten years more and still achieve nothing furthe

f Beaver leaving the office where they had worked, he had forgotten to cong

take my tip, and do a turn at reporting for a while, and then when you've got the hang of things write in. Write in to all the London papers. Say you've had good provincial experience—'provincial' sounds better than local. You'll see.

4

Humphrey accepted the inevitable, and tried to improve on the style of the police reports. Worthin

never Get On if he were to live in the sh

bought the paper every morning

the fine emotion that thrilled him as he read and re-read the letter. Looking back on it, he saw that those moments were among the most glorious in his life; he stood on the threshold of a world

"I'm afraid you will never get on, Humphrey. You are too restless. I'm sure you would d

ng to fortune; he was twenty, and it n

ype="