The Card, a Story of Adventure in the Five Towns Read online

  CHAPTER IX

  THE GREAT NEWSPAPER WAR

  I

  When Denry and his mother had been established a year and a month in thenew house at Bleakridge, Denry received a visit one evening whichperhaps flattered him more than anything had ever flattered him. Thevisitor was Mr Myson. Now Mr Myson was the founder, proprietor andeditor of the _Five Towns Weekly_, a new organ of public opinionwhich had been in existence about a year; and Denry thought that MrMyson had popped in to see him in pursuit of an advertisement of theThrift Club, and at first he was not at all flattered.

  But Mr Myson was not hunting for advertisements, and Denry soon saw himto be the kind of man who would be likely to depute that work to others.Of middle height, well and quietly dressed, with a sober, assureddeportment, he spoke in a voice and accent that were not of the FiveTowns; they were superior to the Five Towns. And in fact Mr Mysonoriginated in Manchester and had seen London. He was not provincial, andhe beheld the Five Towns as part of the provinces; which no native ofthe Five Towns ever succeeds in doing. Nevertheless, his manner to Denrywas the summit of easy and yet deferential politeness.

  He asked permission "to put something before" Denry. And when, rathertaken aback by such smooth phrases, Denry had graciously accorded thepermission, he gave a brief history of the _Five Towns Weekly_,showing how its circulation had grown, and definitely stating that atthat moment it was yielding a profit. Then he said:

  "Now my scheme is to turn it into a daily."

  "Very good notion," said Denry, instinctively.

  "I'm glad you think so," said Mr Myson. "Because I've come here in thehope of getting your assistance. I'm a stranger to the district, and Iwant the co-operation of some one who isn't. So I've come to you. I needmoney, of course, though I have myself what most people would considersufficient capital. But what I need more than money is--well--moralsupport."

  "And who put you on to me?" asked Denry.

  Mr Myson smiled. "I put myself on to you," said he. "I think I may sayI've got my bearings in the Five Towns, after over a year's journalismin it, and it appeared to me that you were the best man I couldapproach. I always believe in flying high."

  Therein was Denry flattered. The visit seemed to him to seal hisposition in the district in a way in which his election to the BursleyTown Council had failed to do. He had been somehow disappointed withthat election. He had desired to display his interest in the seriouswelfare of the town, and to answer his opponent's arguments with betterones. But the burgesses of his ward appeared to have no passionate loveof logic. They just cried "Good old Denry!" and elected him--with amajority of only forty-one votes. He had expected to feel a differentDenry when he could put "Councillor" before his name. It was not so. Hehad been solemnly in the mayoral procession to church, he had attendedmeetings of the council, he had been nominated to the Watch Committee.But he was still precisely the same Denry, though the youngest member ofthe council. But now he was being recognised from the outside. MrMyson's keen Manchester eye, ranging over the quarter of a millioninhabitants of the Five Towns in search of a representative individualforce, had settled on Denry Machin. Yes, he was flattered. Mr Myson'schoice threw a rose-light on all Denry's career: his wealth and itsorigin; his house and stable, which were the astonishment and theadmiration of the town; his Universal Thrift Club; yea, and hiscouncillorship! After all, these _were_ marvels. (And possibly thegreatest marvel was the resigned presence of his mother in that wondroushouse, and the fact that she consented to employ Rose Chudd, theincomparable Sappho of charwomen, for three hours every day.)

  In fine, he perceived from Mr Myson's eyes that his position was unique.

  And after they had chatted a little, and the conversation had deviatedmomentarily from journalism to house property, he offered to displayMachin House (as he had christened it) to Mr Myson, and Mr Myson wasreally impressed beyond the ordinary. Mr Myson's homage to Mrs Machin,whom they chanced on in the paradise of the bath-room, was the polishedmirror of courtesy. How Denry wished that he could behave like that whenhe happened to meet countesses.

  Then, once more in the drawing-room, they resumed the subject ofnewspapers.

  "You know," said Mr Myson, "it's really a very bad thing indeed for adistrict to have only one daily newspaper. I've nothing myself to sayagainst _The Staffordshire Signal_, but you'd perhaps beastonished"--this in a confidential tone--"at the feeling there isagainst the _Signal_ in many quarters."

  "Really!" said Denry.

  "Of course its fault is that it isn't sufficiently interested in thegreat public questions of the district. And it can't be. Because itcan't take a definite side. It must try to please all parties. At anyrate it must offend none. That is the great evil of a journalisticmonopoly.... Two hundred and fifty thousand people--why! there is anample public for two first-class papers. Look at Nottingham! Look atBristol! Look at Leeds! Look at Sheffield!...and _their_newspapers."

  And Denry endeavoured to look at these great cities! Truly the FiveTowns was just about as big.

  The dizzy journalistic intoxication seized him. He did not give Mr Mysonan answer at once, but he gave himself an answer at once. He would gointo the immense adventure. He was very friendly with the _Signal_people--certainly; but business was business, and the highest welfare ofthe Five Towns was the highest welfare of the Five Towns.

  Soon afterwards all the hoardings of the district spoke with one bluevoice, and said that the _Five Towns Weekly_ was to be transformedinto the _Five Towns Daily_, with four editions, beginning each dayat noon, and that the new organ would be conducted on the lines of afirst-class evening paper.

  The inner ring of knowing ones knew that a company entitled "The FiveTowns Newspapers, Limited," had been formed, with a capital of tenthousand pounds, and that Mr Myson held three thousand pounds' worth ofshares, and the great Denry Machin one thousand five hundred, and thatthe remainder were to be sold and allotted as occasion demanded. Theinner ring said that nothing would ever be able to stand up against the_Signal_. On the other hand, it admitted that Denry, the mostprodigious card ever born into the Five Towns, had never been floored byanything. The inner ring anticipated the future with glee. Denry and MrMyson anticipated the future with righteous confidence. As for the_Signal_, it went on its august way, blind to sensationalhoardings.

  II

  On the day of the appearance of the first issue of the _Five TownsDaily_, the offices of the new paper at Hanbridge gave proof of theirexcellent organisation, working in all details with an admirablesmoothness. In the basement a Marinoni machine thundered like a suckingdove to produce fifteen thousand copies an hour. On the ground flooringenious arrangements had been made for publishing the paper; inparticular, the iron railings to keep the boys in order in front of thepublishing counter had been imitated from the _Signal_. On thefirst floor was the editor and founder with his staff, and above thatthe composing department. The number of stairs that separated thecomposing department from the machine-room was not a positive advantage,but bricks and mortar are inelastic, and one does what one can. Theoffices looked very well from the outside, and they compared passablywith the offices of the _Signal_ close by. The posters were duly inthe ground-floor windows, and gold signs, one above another to the roof,produced an air of lucrative success.

  Denry happened to be in the _Daily_ offices that afternoon. He hadhad nothing to do with the details of organisation, for details oforganisation were not his speciality. His speciality was large, leadingideas. He knew almost nothing of the agreements with correspondents andPress Association and Central News, and the racing services and thefiction syndicates, nor of the difficulties with the Compositors' Union,nor of the struggle to lower the price of paper by the twentieth of apenny per pound, nor of the awful discounts allowed to certainadvertisers, nor of the friction with the railway company, nor of thesickening adulation that had been lavished on quite unimportantnewsagents, nor--worst of all--of the dearth of newsboys. These mattersdid not attract him. He could not stoop to them.
But when Mr Myson, calmand proud, escorted him down to the machine-room, and the Marinoni threwa folded pink _Daily_ almost into his hands, and it looked exactlylike a real newspaper, and he saw one of his own descriptive articles init, and he reflected that he was an owner of it--then Denry wasattracted and delighted, and his heart beat. For this pink thing was thesymbol and result of the whole affair, and had the effect of a miracleon him.

  And he said to himself, never guessing how many thousands of men hadsaid it before him, that a newspaper was the finest toy in the world.

  About four o'clock the publisher, in shirt sleeves and an apron, came upto Mr Myson and respectfully asked him to step into the publishingoffice. Mr Myson stepped into the publishing office and Denry with him,and they there beheld a small ragged boy with a bleeding nose and abundle of _Dailys_ in his wounded hand.

  "Yes," the boy sobbed; "and they said they'd cut my eyes out and plee[play] marbles wi' 'em, if they cotched me in Crown Square agen," And hethrew down the papers with a final yell.

  The two directors learnt that the delicate threat had been uttered byfour _Signal_ boys, who had objected to any fellow-boys offeringany paper other than the _Signal_ for sale in Crown Square oranywhere else.

  Of course, it was absurd.

  Still, absurd as it was, it continued. The central publishing offices ofthe _Daily_ at Hanbridge, and its branch offices in theneighbouring towns, were like military hospitals, and the truth appearedto the directors that while the public was panting to buy copies of the_Daily_, the sale of the _Daily_ was being prevented by meansof a scandalous conspiracy on the part of _Signal_ boys. For itmust be understood that in the Five Towns people prefer to catch theirnewspaper in the street as it flies and cries. The _Signal_ had avast army of boys, to whom every year it gave a great _fete_.Indeed, the _Signal_ possessed nearly all the available boys, andassuredly all the most pugilistic and strongest boys. Mr Myson hadobtained boys only after persistent inquiry and demand, and such as hehad found were not the fittest, and therefore were unlikely to survive.You would have supposed that in a district that never ceases to grumbleabout bad trade and unemployment, thousands of boys would have beendelighted to buy the _Daily_ at fourpence a dozen and sell it atsixpence. But it was not so.

  On the second day the dearth of boys at the offices of the _Daily_was painful. There was that magnificent, enterprising newspaper waitingto be sold, and there was the great enlightened public waiting to buy;and scarcely any business could be done because the _Signal_ boyshad established a reign of terror over their puny and upstart rivals!

  The situation was unthinkable.

  Still, unthinkable as it was, it continued. Mr Myson had thought ofeverything except this. Naturally it had not occurred to him that animmense and serious effort for the general weal was going to be blockedby a gang of tatterdemalions.

  He complained with dignity to the _Signal_, and was informedwith dignity by the _Signal_ that the _Signal_ could not beresponsible for the playful antics of its boys in the streets; that, inshort, the Five Towns was a free country. In the latter proposition MrMyson did not concur.

  After trouble in the persuasion of parents--astonishing how indifferentthe Five Towns' parent was to the loss of blood by his offspring!--acase reached the police-court. At the hearing the _Signal_ gave asolicitor a watching brief, and that solicitor expressed the_Signal's_ horror of carnage. The evidence was excessivelycontradictory, and the Stipendiary dismissed the summons with a goodjoke. The sole definite result was that the boy whose father hadostensibly brought the summons, got his ear torn within a quarter of anhour of leaving the court. Boys will be boys.

  Still, the _Daily_ had so little faith in human nature that itcould not believe that the _Signal_ was not secretly encouragingits boys to be boys. It could not believe that the _Signal_, out ofa sincere desire for fair play and for the highest welfare of thedistrict, would willingly sacrifice nearly half its circulation and aportion of its advertisement revenue. And the hurt tone of Mr Myson'sleading articles seemed to indicate that in Mr Myson's opinion his olderrival _ought_ to do everything in its power to ruin itself. The_Signal_ never spoke of the fight. The _Daily_ gave shockingdetails of it every day.

  The struggle trailed on through the weeks.

  Then Denry had one of his ideas. An advertisement was printed in the_Daily_ for two hundred able-bodied men to earn two shillings forworking six hours a day. An address different from the address of the_Daily_ was given. By a ruse Denry procured the insertion of theadvertisement in the _Signal_ also.

  "We must expend our capital on getting the paper on to the streets,"said Denry. "That's evident. We'll have it sold by men. We'll soon seeif the _Signal_ ragamuffins will attack _them_. And we won'tpay 'em by results; we'll pay 'em a fixed wage; that'll fetch 'em. And acommission on sales into the bargain. Why! I wouldn't mind engaging_five_ hundred men. Swamp the streets! That's it! Hang expense. Andwhen we've done the trick, then we can go back to the boys; they'll havelearnt their lesson."

  And Mr Myson agreed and was pleased that Denry was living up to hisreputation.

  The state of the earthenware trade was supposed that summer to be worsethan it had been since 1869, and the grumblings of the unemployed wereprodigious, even seditious. Mr Myson therefore, as a measure ofprecaution, engaged a couple of policemen to ensure order at theaddress, and during the hours, named in the advertisement as arendezvous for respectable men in search of a well-paid job. Havingregard to the thousands of perishing families in the Five Towns, heforesaw a rush and a crush of eager breadwinners. Indeed, thearrangements were elaborate.

  Forty minutes after the advertised time for the opening of the receptionof respectable men in search of money, four men had arrived. Mr Myson,mystified, thought that there had been a mistake in the advertisement,but there was no mistake in the advertisement. A little later two moremen came. Of the six, three were tipsy, and the other three absolutelydeclined to be seen selling papers in the streets. Two were abusive, onefacetious. Mr Myson did not know his Five Towns; nor did Denry. A FiveTowns' man, when he can get neither bread nor beer, will keep himselfand his family on pride and water. The policemen went off to moreserious duties.

  III

  Then came the announcement of the thirty-fifth anniversary ofthe _Signal_, and of the processional _fete_ by which the_Signal_ was at once to give itself a splendid spectacularadvertisement and to reward and enhearten its boys. The _Signal_meant to liven up the streets of the Five Towns on that great day bymeans of a display of all the gilt chariots of Snape's Circus in themain thoroughfare. Many of the boys would be in the gilt chariots.Copies of the anniversary number of the _Signal_ would be sold fromthe gilt chariots. The idea was excellent, and it showed that after allthe _Signal_ was getting just a little more afraid of its youngrival than it had pretended to be.

  For, strange to say, after a trying period of hesitation, the _FiveTowns Daily_ was slightly on the upward curve--thanks to Denry. Denrydid not mean to be beaten by the puzzle which the _Daily_ offeredto his intelligence. There the _Daily_ was, full of news, and withquite an encouraging show of advertisements, printed on real paper withreal ink--and yet it would not "go." Notoriously the _Signal_earned a net profit of at the very least five thousand a year, whereasthe _Daily_ earned a net loss of at the very least sixty pounds aweek--and of that sixty quite a third was Denry's money. He could notexplain it. Mr Myson tried to rouse the public by passionately stirringup extremely urgent matters--such as the smoke nuisance, the increase ofthe rates, the park question, German competition, technical educationfor apprentices; but the public obstinately would not be rousedconcerning its highest welfare to the point of insisting on a regularsupply of the _Daily_. If a mere five thousand souls had positivelydemanded daily a copy of the _Daily_ and not slept till boys oragents had responded to their wish, the troubles of the _Daily_would soon have vanished. But this ridiculous public did not seem tocare which paper was put into its hand in exchange for its halfpenny, solong as the sporting news was
put there. It simply was indifferent. Itfailed to see the importance to such an immense district of having twoflourishing and mutually-opposing daily organs. The fundamental boydifficulty remained ever present.

  And it was the boy difficulty that Denry perseveringly and ingeniouslyattacked, until at length the _Daily_ did indeed possess some sortof a brigade of its own, and the bullying and slaughter in the streets(so amusing to the inhabitants) grew a little less one-sided.

  A week or more before the _Signal's_ anniversary day, Denry heardthat the _Signal_ was secretly afraid lest the _Daily's_brigade might accomplish the marring of its gorgeous procession, andthat the _Signal_ was ready to do anything to smash the_Daily's_ brigade. He laughed; he said he did not mind. About thattime hostilities were rather acute; blood was warming, and both papers,in the excitation of rivalry, had partially lost the sense of what wasdue to the dignity of great organs. By chance a tremendous localfootball match--Knype _v_: Bursley--fell on the very Saturday ofthe procession. The rival arrangements for the reporting of the matchwere as tremendous as the match itself, and somehow the match seemed toadd keenness to the journalistic struggle, especially as the_Daily_ favoured Bursley and the _Signal_ was therefore forcedto favour Knype.

  By all the laws of hazard there ought to have been a hitch on thathistoric Saturday. Telephone or telegraph ought to have broken down, orrain ought to have made play impossible, but no hitch occurred. And atfive-thirty o'clock of a glorious afternoon in earliest November the_Daily_ went to press with a truly brilliant account of the mannerin which Bursley (for the first and last time in its history) haddefeated Knype by one goal to none. Mr Myson was proud. Mr Myson defiedthe _Signal_ to beat his descriptive report. As for the_Signal's_ procession--well, Mr Myson and the chief sub-editor ofthe _Daily_ glanced at each other and smiled.

  And a few minutes later the _Daily_ boys were rushing out of thepublishing room with bundles of papers--assuredly in advance of the_Signal_.

  It was at this juncture that the unexpected began to occur to the_Daily_ boys. The publishing door of the _Daily_ opened intoStanway Rents, a narrow alley in a maze of mean streets behind CrownSquare. In Stanway Rents was a small warehouse in which, according torumours of the afternoon, a free soup kitchen was to be opened. And justbefore the football edition of the _Daily_ came off the Marinoni,it emphatically was opened, and there issued from its inviting gate anodour--not, to be sure, of soup, but of toasted cheese and hot jam--suchan odour as had never before tempted the nostrils of a _Daily_ boy;a unique and omnipotent odour. Several boys (who, I may state frankly,were traitors to the _Daily_ cause, spies and mischief-makers fromelsewhere) raced unhesitatingly in, crying that toasted cheesesandwiches and jam tarts were to be distributed like lightning to allauthentic newspaper lads.

  The entire gang followed--scores, over a hundred--inwardly expecting toemerge instantly with teeth fully employed, followed like sheep into afold.

  And the gate was shut.

  Toasted cheese and hot jammy pastry were faithfully served to the raggedhost--but with no breathless haste. And when, loaded, the boys struggledto depart, they were instructed by the kind philanthropist who had fedthem to depart by another exit, and they discovered themselves In anenclosed yard, of which the double doors were apparently unyielding. Andthe warehouse door was shut also. And as the cheese and jam disappeared,shouts of fury arose on the air. The yard was so close to the offices ofthe _Daily_ that the chimneypots of those offices could actually beseen. And yet the shouting brought no answer from the lords of the_Daily_, congratulating themselves up there on their fine accountof the football match, and on their celerity in going to press and onthe loyalty of their brigade.

  The _Signal_, it need not be said, disavowed complicity in thisextraordinary entrapping of the _Daily_ brigade by means of anodour. Could it be held responsible for the excesses of itsdisinterested sympathisers?... Still, the appalling trick showed thehigh temperature to which blood had risen in the genial battle betweengreat rival organs. Persons in the inmost ring whispered that DenryMachin had at length been bested on this critically important day.

  IV

  Snape's Circus used to be one of the great shining institutions of NorthStaffordshire, trailing its magnificence on sculptured wheels from townto town, and occupying the dreams of boys from one generation toanother. Its headquarters were at Axe, in the Moorlands, ten miles awayfrom Hanbridge, but the riches of old Snape had chiefly come from theFive Towns. At the time of the struggle between the _Signal_ andthe _Daily_ its decline had already begun. The aged proprietor hadrecently died, and the name, and the horses, and the chariots, and thecarefully-repaired tents had been sold to strangers. On the Saturday ofthe anniversary and the football match (which was also MartinmasSaturday) the circus was set up at Oldcastle, on the edge of the FiveTowns, and was giving its final performances of the season. Even boyswill not go to circuses in the middle of a Five Towns' winter. The_Signal_ people had hired the processional portion of Snape's forthe late afternoon and early evening. And the instructions were that theentire _cortege_ should be round about the _Signal_ offices,in marching order, not later than five o'clock.

  But at four o'clock several gentlemen with rosettes in theirbutton-holes and _Signal_ posters in their hands arrived importantand panting at the fair-ground at Oldcastle, and announced that theprogramme had been altered at the last moment, in order to defeatcertain feared machinations of the unscrupulous _Daily_. Thecavalcade was to be split into three groups, one of which, the chief,was to enter Hanbridge by a "back road," and the other two were to go toBursley and Longshaw respectively. In this manner the forces ofadvertisement would be distributed, and the chief parts of the districtequally honoured.

  The special linen banners, pennons, and ribbons--bearing the words--

  "_SIGNAL:_ THIRTY-FIFTH ANNIVERSARY," &c.

  had already been hung and planted and draped about the gilded summits ofthe chariots. And after some delay the processions were started,separating at the bottom of the Cattle Market. The head of the Hanbridgepart of the procession consisted of an enormous car of Jupiter, with sixwheels and thirty-six paregorical figures (as the clown used to say),and drawn by six piebald steeds guided by white reins. This coach had awindowed interior (at the greater fairs it sometimes served as abox-office) and in the interior one of the delegates of the_Signal_ had fixed himself; from it he directed the paths of theprocession.

  It would be futile longer to conceal that the delegate of the_Signal_ in the bowels of the car of Jupiter was not honestly adelegate of the _Signal_ at all. He was, indeed, Denry Machin, andnone other. From this single fact it will be seen to what extent therepresentatives of great organs had forgotten what was due to theirdignity and to public decency. Ensconced in his lair Denry directed themain portion of the _Signal's_ advertising procession by all mannerof discreet lanes round the skirts of Hanbridge and so into the townfrom the hilly side. And ultimately the ten vehicles halted in CrapperStreet, to the joy of the simple inhabitants.

  Denry emerged and wandered innocently towards the offices of his paper,which were close by. It was getting late. The first yelling of theimprisoned _Daily_ boys was just beginning to rise on the autumnair.

  Suddenly Denry was accosted by a young man.

  "Hello, Machin!" cried the young man. "What have you shaved your beardoff, for? I scarcely knew you."

  "I just thought I would, Swetnam," said Denry, who was obviouslydiscomposed.

  It was the youngest of the Swetnam boys; he and Denry had taken a sortof curt fancy to one another.

  "I say," said Swetnam, confidentially, as if obeying a swift impulse, "Idid hear that the _Signal_ people meant to collar all your chapsthis afternoon, and I believe they have done. Hear that now?" (Swetnam'sfather was intimate with the _Signal_ people.)

  "I know," Denry replied.

  "But I mean--papers and all."

  "I know," said Denry.

  "Oh!" murmured Swetnam.

  "But I'll tell you a secret," Denry
added. "They aren't to-day's papers.They're yesterday's, and last week's and last month's. We've beencollecting them specially and keeping them nice and new-looking."

  "Well, you're a caution!" murmured Swetnam.

  "I am," Denry agreed.

  A number of men rushed at that instant with bundles of the genuinefootball edition from the offices of the _Daily_.

  "Come on!" Denry cried to them. "Come on! This way! By-by, Swetnam."

  And the whole file vanished round a corner. The yelling of imprisonedcheese-fed boys grew louder.

  V

  In the meantime at the _Signal_ office (which was not three hundredyards away, but on the other side of Crown Square) apprehension haddeepened into anxiety as the minutes passed and the Snape Circusprocession persisted in not appearing on the horizon of the OldcastleRoad. The _Signal_ would have telephoned to Snape's, but for thefact that a circus is never on the telephone. It then telephoned to itsOldcastle agent, who, after a long delay, was able to reply that thecavalcade had left Oldcastle at the appointed hour, with every sign ofhealth and energy. Then the _Signal_ sent forth scouts all down theOldcastle Road to put spurs into the procession, and the scoutsreturned, having seen nothing. Pessimists glanced at the possibility ofthe whole procession having fallen into the canal at Cauldon Bridge. Thepaper was printed, the train-parcels for Knype, Longshaw, Bursley, andTurnhill were despatched; the boys were waiting; the fingers of theclock in the publishing department were simply flying. It had beenarranged that the bulk of the Hanbridge edition, and in particular thefirst copies of it, should be sold by boys from the gilt chariotsthemselves. The publisher hesitated for an awful moment, and thendecided that he could wait no more, and that the boys must sell thepapers in the usual way from the pavements and gutters. There was noknowing what the _Daily_ might not be doing.

  And then _Signal_ boys in dozens rushed forth paper-laden, but theywere disappointed boys; they had thought to ride in gilt chariots, notto paddle in mud. And almost the first thing they saw in Crown Squarewas the car of Jupiter in its glory, flying all the _Signal_colours; and other cars behind. They did not rush now; they sprang, asfrom a catapult; and alighted like flies on the vehicles. Men insistedon taking their papers from them and paying for them on the spot. Theboys were startled; they were entirely puzzled; but they had not thehabit of refusing money. And off went the procession to the music of itsown band down the road to Knype, and perhaps a hundred boys on board,cheering. The men in charge then performed a curious act: they tore downall the _Signal_ flagging, and replaced it with the emblem of the_Daily_.

  So that all the great and enlightened public wandering home in crowdsfrom the football match at Knype, had the spectacle of a _Daily_procession instead of a _Signal_ procession, and could scarcebelieve their eyes. And _Dailys_ were sold in quantities from thecars. At Knype Station the procession curved and returned to Hanbridge,and finally, after a multitudinous triumph, came to a stand with all its_Daily_ bunting in front of the _Signal_ offices; and Denryappeared from his lair. Denry's men fled with bundles.

  "They're an hour and a half late," said Denry calmly to one of theproprietors of the _Signal_, who was on the pavement. "But I'vemanaged to get them here. I thought I'd just look in to thank you forgiving such a good feed to our lads."

  The telephones hummed with news of similar _Daily_ processions inLongshaw and Bursley. And there was not a high-class private bar in thedistrict that did not tinkle with delighted astonishment at the brazen,the inconceivable effrontery of that card, Denry Machin. Many peopleforesaw law-suits, but it was agreed that the _Signal_ had begunthe game of impudence in trapping the _Daily_ lads so as to securea holy calm for its much-trumpeted procession.

  And Denry had not finished with the _Signal_.

  In the special football edition of the _Daily_ was an announcement,the first, of special Martinmas _fetes_ organised by the _FiveTowns Daily_. And on the same morning every member of the UniversalThrift Club had received an invitation to the said _fetes_. Theywere three--held on public ground at Hanbridge, Bursley, and Longshaw.They were in the style of the usual Five Towns "wakes"; that is to say,roundabouts, shows, gingerbread stalls, swings, cocoanut shies. But ateach _fete_ a new and very simple form of "shy" had been erected.It consisted of a row of small railway signals.

  "March up! March up!" cried the shy-men. "Knock down the signal! Knockdown the signal! And a packet of Turkish delight is yours. Knock downthe signal!"

  And when you had knocked down the signal the men cried:

  "We wrap it up for you in the special Anniversary Number of the_Signal_."

  And they disdainfully tore into suitable fragments copies of the_Signal_ which had cost Denry & Co. a halfpenny each, and enfoldedthe Turkish delight therein, and handed it to you with a smack.

  And all the fair-grounds were carpeted with draggled and muddy_Signals_. People were up to the ankles in _Signals_.

  The affair was the talk of Sunday. Few matters in the Five Towns haveraised more gossip than did that enormous escapade which Denry inventedand conducted. The moral damage to the _Signal_ was held toapproach the disastrous. And now not the possibility but the probabilityof law-suits was incessantly discussed.

  On the Monday both papers were bought with anxiety. Everybody wasfrothing to know what the respective editors would say.

  But in neither sheet was there a single word as to the affair. Both haddetermined to be discreet; both were afraid. The _Signal_ fearedlest it might not, if the pinch came, be able to prove its innocence ofthe crime of luring boys into confinement by means of toasted cheese andhot jam. The _Signal_ had also to consider its seriously damageddignity; for such wounds silence is the best dressing. The _Daily_was comprehensively afraid. It had practically driven its gildedchariots through the entire Decalogue. Moreover, it had won easily inthe grand altercation. It was exquisitely conscious of glory.

  Denry went away to Blackpool, doubtless to grow his beard.

  The proof of the _Daily's_ moral and material victory was that soonafterwards there were four applicants, men of substance, for shares inthe _Daily_ company. And this, by the way, was the end of the tale.For these applicants, who secured options on a majority of the shares,were emissaries of the _Signal_. Armed with the options, the_Signal_ made terms with its rival, and then by mutual agreementkilled it. The price of its death was no trifle, but it was less than ayear's profits of the _Signal_. Denry considered that he had been"done." But in the depths of his heart he was glad that he had beendone. He had had too disconcerting a glimpse of the rigours and perilsof journalism to wish to continue it. He had scored supremely and, forhim, to score was life itself. His reputation as a card was far, farhigher than ever. Had he so desired, he could have been elected to theHouse of Commons on the strength of his procession and _fete_.

  Mr Myson, somewhat scandalised by the exuberance of his partner,returned to Manchester.

  And the _Signal_, subsequently often referred to as "The Old Lady,"resumed its monopolistic sway over the opinions of a quarter of amillion of people, and has never since been attacked.