“Look at this, Millie,” John said, showing the first printed page to his wife.
“I read it when I set the type,” Millie replied. Millie was not only John’s wife. She was also a valued employee, for she could set type, operate the press, and even write a column that was aimed specifically at the ladies of Fullerton. She had come to work for John when he started the newspaper some two years earlier, and the work relationship grew to something more. That was when John Bryce, who had thought that he would never be married, took her as his bride.
“Well, what do you think of it?” John asked.
“I don’t know,” Millie said.
“What do you mean, you don’t know? You think it isn’t a good story?”
“John, it is a wonderful story, and why shouldn’t it be? You are, after all, a wonderful writer. But I don’t want to see our place all messed up again. Or worse.”
“What do you mean, worse?”
“You know what I mean, John,” Millie said with a little shiver.
John walked over to Millie, put his arms around her, then pulled her to him. “Denbigh is an evil man, Millie, but he isn’t dumb. And killing a public figure like me would be a dumb thing to do.”
“I hope you are right,” Millie replied.
“What I hope is that the effect of this article will be to galvanize the governor, the sheriff, the mayor, and the citizens of this town into action against the evil Mr. Denbigh.”
“And I fear it will have just the opposite result,” Millie said. “Already, some of the people are concerned over what happened here the other night.”
“Concern? Nonsense, why should they be concerned?”
“They are afraid it might happen to them.”
“That’s nonsense.”
“John, sometimes I feel as if you are trapped in a soap bubble. It is a wonderful soap bubble, filled with all the noble ideas of honor, truth, and justice, but you see nothing beyond that bubble. The people of town are afraid that Denbigh will react to your stories by stopping all business dealings with Fullerton. And whether you like him or not —”
“Not!” John interrupted, and stabbed his finger into the air. “Madam,” he said, speaking as dramatically as if he were on stage. “I like him not!”
Millie laughed. “Whether you like him or not,” she continued, “you must admit that he does a great deal of business with the people of the town. They are afraid they will lose that business.”
“They are being foolish,” John said, his voice returning to normal. “Don’t they understand that without his interference, they would do even more business?”
“Nevertheless, the whole town is afraid, and I fear some may, out of their fear, stop doing business with us. I know you feel strongly about this, but we do have our own well-being to consider.”
“Millie, you know yourself that if this town dies, we will as well. A newspaper can survive only as long at the public it serves survives. I am looking out for our own well-being.”
“I suppose you are right,” Millie acquiesced. “But I beg of you, John, to please exercise some caution.”
At that moment, Kenny Perkins came into the office. Kenny Perkins was the twelve-year-old who had come to help pick up the scattered type. It was no accident he was there because Kenny worked for John. He was the son of Ma Perkins, a widow who owned a boardinghouse as well as a couple of other businesses. Kenny’s father, Emil, had been killed three years earlier in a mining accident. Like his mother, Kenny had a nose for business, and he had convinced John that he needed a paperboy to deliver the
“Did you get the Thursday paper out, Mr. Bryce?” Kenny asked.
“Indeed I did, Kenny.”
Kenny smiled broadly. “I knew you would. Are the papers ready to go yet?”
“That they are, Kenny, that they are. Go, quickly now, and wearing the shoes of Hermes, attend to your appointed rounds.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about. I’m not wearin’ this fella Hermes’ shoes. Heck, warm as it is today, I’m not wearin’ any shoes a’tall. See?” Kenny held up one of his feet and wriggled his toes.
“The young man speaks the truth, Millie. His feet are as bare as the feet of a newborn babe.”
Kenny laughed. “You’re funny, Mr. Bryce.” He took the papers, then started up Monroe Avenue, which was the main street of town, with his delivery.
“Now there goes a good boy,” John said.
“Yes, he is, and you shouldn’t tease him so,” Millie said.
“He enjoys it,” John said. “Besides, without a father, he needs a man to joke with him now and then.”
“I agree. But you can’t say his mother isn’t doing a good job with him. I’ve known Lucy for a long time. I just hope …” She stopped in mid-sentence.
“You hope what?”
“I hope the people who vandalized out newspaper office won’t ever take it out on Kenny.”
“I’m sure they won’t,” John replied.
