the vision spendid(美景)-第8章
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only the barest facts were told there was a sob in the story。
〃That ain't just how we handle vag suicides； but we'll let 'er go this
time；〃 he commented。
It did not take Jeff long to learn how to cover a story to the satisfaction
of the city editor。 He had only to be conventional； sensational； and in
general accurate as to his facts。 He fraternized with his fellow reporters at
the City Hall； shared stories with them； listened to the cheerful lies they
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told of their exploits； and lent them money they generally forgot to return。
They were a happy…go…lucky lot； full of careless generosities and
Bohemian tendencies。 Often a week's salary went at a single poker sitting。
Most of them drank a good deal。
After a few months' experience Jeff discovered that while the
gathering of news tends to sharpen the wits it makes also for the
superficial。 Alertness； cleverness； persistence； a nose for news； and a
surface accuracy were the chief qualities demanded of him by the office。
He had only to look around him to see that the profession was full of keen…
eyed； nimble…witted old…young men who had never attempted to
synthesize the life they were supposed to be recording and interpreting。
While at work they were always in a hurry； for to…day's news is dead to…
morrow。 They wrote on the run； without time for thought or reflection。
Knowing beyond their years； the fruit of their wisdom was cynicism。 Their
knowledge withered for lack of roots。
The tendency of the city desk and of copy readers is to reduce all
reporters to a dead level； but in spite of this Jeff managed to get himself
into his work。 He brought to many stories a freshness； a point of view； an
optimism that began to be noticed。 From the police run Jeff drifted to other
departments。 He covered hotels； the court house； the state house and
general assignments。
At the end of a couple of years he was promoted to a desk position。
This did not suit him； and he went back to the more active work of the
street。 In time he became known as a star man。 From dramatics he went to
politics； special stories and feature work。 The big assignments were given
him。
It was his duty to meet famous people and interview them。 The chance
to get behind the scenes at the real inside story was given him。 Because of
this many reputations were pricked like bubbles so far as he was
concerned。 The mask of greatness was like the false faces children wear to
conceal their own。 In the one or two really big men he met Jeff discovered
a humility and simplicity that came from self…forgetfulness。 They were too
busy with their vision of truth to pose for the public admiration。
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PART 2
It was while Jeff was doing the City Hall run that there came to him
one night at his rooms a man he had known in the old days when he had
lived in the river bottom district。 If he was surprised to see him the
reporter did not show it。
〃Hello； Burke！ Come in。 Glad to see you。〃 Farnum took the hat of his
guest and relieved his awkwardness by guiding him to a chair and helping
him get his pipe alight。
〃How's everything？ Little Mike must be growing into a big boy these
days。 Let's see。 It's three years since I've seen him。〃
A momentary flicker lit the gloomy eyes of the Irishman。 〃He's a great
boy； Mike is。 He often speaks of you； Mr。 Farnum。
〃Glad to know it。 And Mrs。 Burke？〃
〃Fine。〃
〃That leaves only Patrick Burke。 I suppose he hasn't fallen off the
water wagon yet。〃
The occupation of Burke had been a threadbare joke between them in
the old days。 He drove a street sprinkler for the city。
〃That's what he has。 McGuire threw the hooks into me this mor… rning。
I've drove me last day。〃
〃What's the matter？〃
〃I'm too damned honest。 。 。 。 or too big a coward。 Take your choice。〃
〃All right。 I've taken it；〃 smiled the reporter。
Pat brought his big fist down on the table so forcefully that the books
shook。 〃I'll not go to the penitentiary for an…ny man。 。 。 。 He wanted me to
let him put two other teams on the rolls in my name。 I wouldn't stand for it。
That was six weeks ago。 To…day he lets me out。〃
Jeff began to see dimly the trail of the serpent graft。 He lit his pipe
before he spoke。
〃Don't quite get the idea； Pat。 Why wouldn't you？〃
〃Because I'm on the level。 I'll have no wan tellin' little Mike his father
is a dirty thief。 。 。 。It's this way。 The rolls were to be padded； understand。〃
〃I see。 You were to draw pay for three teams when you've got only
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one。〃
〃McGuire was to draw it； all but a few dollars a month。〃 The Irishman
leaned forward； his eyes blazing。 〃And because I wouldn't stand for it I'm
fired for neglecting my duty。 I missed a street yesterday。 If he'd been
frientlly to me I might have missed forty。 。 。 。 But he can't throw me down
like that。 I've got the goods to show he's a dirty grafter。 Right now he's
drawing pay for seven teams that don't exist。〃
〃And he doesn't know you know it？〃
〃You bet he don't。 I've guessed it for a month。 To…day I went round and
made sure。〃
Jeff asked questions； learned all that Burke had to tell him。 In the days
that followed he ran down the whole story of the graft so secretly that not
even the city editor knew what he was about。 Then he had a talk with the
〃old man〃 and wrote his story。
It was a red…hot exposure of one of the most flagrant of the City Hall
gang。 There was no question of the proof。 He had it in black and white。
Moreover； there was always the chance that in the row which must follow
McGuire might peach on Big Tim himself； the boss of all the little bosses。
Within twenty…four hours Jeff was summoned to a conference at which
were present the city editor and Warren； now managing editor。
〃We've killed your story； Farnum；〃 announced the latter as soon as the
door was closed。
〃Why？ I can prove every word of it。〃
〃That was what we were afraid of。〃
〃It's a peach of a story。 With the spring elections coming on we need
some dynamite to blow up Big Tim。 I tell you McGuire would tell all he
knows to save his own skin。〃
〃My opinion； too；〃 agreed Warren dryly。 〃My boy； it's too big a story。
That's the whole trouble。 If we were sure it would stop at McGuire we'd
run it。 But it won't。 The corporations are backing Big Tim to win this
spring。 It won't do to get him tied up in a graft scandal。〃
〃But the _Advocate_ has been out after his scalp for years。〃
〃Well； we're not after it any more。 Of course； we're against him on the
surface still。〃
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Jeff did some rapid thinking。 〃Then the program will be for us to
nominate a weak ticket and elect Big Tim's by default。 Is that it？〃
〃That's about it。 The big fellows have to make sure of a Mayor who
will be all right about the Gas and Electric franchise。 So we're going to
have four more years of Big Tim。〃
〃Will Brownell stand for it？〃
Brownell was the principal owner of the _Advocate。_
〃Will he？〃 Warren let his eyelash rest for a second upon the cheek
nearest Jeff。 〃He's been seen。 My orders come direct from the old man。〃
The story was suppressed。 No more was heard about the McGuire
graft scandal exposure。 It had run counter to the projects of big business。
Burke had to be satisfied without his revenge。
He got a job with a brewery and charged the McGuire matter to profit
and loss。
As for Jeff the incident only served to make clearer what he already
knew。 More and more he began to understand the forces that dominate our
cities； the alliance between large vested interests and the powers that prey。
These great corporations were seekers of special privileges。 To secure this
they financed the machines and permitted vice and corruption。 He saw that
ultimately most of the shame for the bad government of American cities
rests upon the Fromes and the Merrills。
As for the newspapers； he was learning that between the people and an
independent press stand the big advertisers。 These make for conservatism；
for an unfair point of view； for a slant in both news recording and news
interpretation。 Yet he saw that the press is in spite of this a power for good。
The evil that it does is local and temporary； the good general and
permanent。
PART 3
The spirit of commercialism that dominated America during the
nineties and the first years of the new century never got hold of Jeff。 The
air and the light of his land were often the creation of a poet's dream。 The
delight of life stabbed him； so； too； did its tragedy。 Not anchored to
conventions； his mind was forever asking questions； seeking answers。
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He would come out from a theater into a night that was a flood of
illumination。 Electric signs poured a glare of light over the streets。 Motor
cars and electrics whirled up to take away beautifully gowned women and
correctly dressed men。 The windows of the department stores were filled
with imported luxuries。 And he would sometimes wonder how much of
misery and trouble was being driven back by that gay blare of wealth； how
many men and women and children were giving their lives to maintain a
civilization that existed by trampling over their broken hearts and bodies。
Preventable poverty stared at him from all sides。 He saw that our
social fabric is thrown togethe
