"Speaking  frankly,  it's  tawdry.  It's  lurid.  It's  —  well,
yellow."

"A  matter  of  method.  You're  really  more  interested,
then,  in  the  way  we  present  news  than  in  the  news  we  pre
sent."

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  news,  itself.  But  I  don't
see  why  a  newspaper  run  by  a  gentleman  should  n't  be  in
good  taste."

"Nor  do  I.  Except  that  those  things  take  time.  I  sup
pose  I  've  got  to  get  in  touch  with  my  staff  before  I  can
reform  their  way  of  writing  the  paper."

"Have  n't  you  done  that  yet?"

"  I  simply  have  n't  had  time."

"Then  I'll  make  you  a  nice  present  of  a  very  valuable
suggestion.  Give  a  luncheon  to  your  employees,  and  invite
all  the  editors  and  reporters.  Make  a  little  speech  to  them
and  tell  them  what  you  intend  to  do,  and  get  them  to  talk
it  over  and  express  opinions.  That's  the  way  to  get  things

119


THE  CLARION

done.  I  do  it  with  my  mission  class.  And,  by  the  way,  don't
make  it  a  grand  banquet  at  one  of  the  big  hotels.  Have
it  in  some  place  where  the  men  are  used  to  eating.  They  '11
feel  more  at  home  and  you'll  get  more  out  of  them."

"Will  you  come?"

"No.  But  you  shall  come  up  to  the  house  and  report
fully  on  it."

Had  Miss  Esme  Elliot,  experimentalist  in  human  mo
tives,  foreseen  to  what  purpose  her  ingenious  suggestion
was  to  work  out,  she  might  well  have  retracted  her  com
plaint  of  lack  of  real  influence ;  for  this  casual  conversation
was  the  genesis  of  the  Talk-it-Over  Breakfast,  an  institu
tion  which  potently  affected  the  future  of  the  "Clarion"
and  its  young  owner.
