JOHN ENDOR’S talk with Sir Munt gave that gentleman much food for thought. For twenty-five years the Mayor of Blackhampton had voted Blue. In the purview of Yellow, its arch and traditional foe, Blue was the badge of Reaction, of Capitalism, of Imperialism, of Mass-oppression. Yellow, in the opinion of Blue, was the badge of Ca’ Canny, Democratic Insolence, Class Prejudice, Mob Rule. Once upon a time, no doubt, the two colors may have approximated more or less to these extremes.
Since the Great War, however, and the rise to power of the Newspaper Ring, things had changed. In fact they were always changing. At the beck of Cosmos Alley and Universe Lane, these two primary colors were now interchangeable terms. Blue became Yellow, and Yellow became Blue in deference to the will of the magician who presided over the destinies of the U. P. In fact the art of government by newspaper had been raised to such a pitch that it took a very shrewd head to know who and what it was voting for. Sir Munt had a head of that kind, but more than once of late years in matters political its owner had been completely at fault.
At the last General Election, some six years ago, the U. P.—profanely called the Stunt Press—had declared for John Endor, then a tyro and greenhorn new to political life under modern conditions. He had been returned to parliament in consequence by a big majority. This time, however, the boot was on the other leg. “Endor must go.”
The member for Blackhampton East had much to say to Sir Munt, and he said it cogently. The two men were singularly unlike. Endor, a highly civilized man of liberal ideas, was consumed with a desire to leave the world a little better than he found it. Sir Josiah, on the other hand, had not been born to social advantages. Entirely self-educated he had made his way by mother wit and force of will; but like so many of his kind, to whom life had brought prosperity, he too, had a regard for the body politic. In Sir Munt the vein of idealism which ennobled John Endor was conspicuously lacking. He had seen too much of the ugly side of life to have any great hopes of human nature. All the same he was a good citizen and a very honest man. Rough he might be, on the surface, but his hand was often in his pocket; and he grudged neither time nor trouble in grappling with the eternal problem of the Under Dog.
“You tell me, Mr. Endor,” said Sir Munt, looking at his visitor in what he would have himself described as “an old-fashioned way,” “you tell me, sir, that the Stunt Press has behind it a ring of capitalists, with one man at its head, who is determined to become the dictator of this country.”
“I do,” said John Endor.
“Well, now,” said Blackhampton’s Chief Magistrate, “I don’t believe that to be possible. One man—I don’t care how clever—can’t run a country like this.”
“Saul Hartz steadily keeps that end in view. And his Trust is now organized in such a wonderful way that in the near future anything may happen. You see the Machine, as one may call it, of which this man Hartz is the linchpin has now a finger in every pie. A child can hardly buy a packet of pins without its permission. Its great opportunity came with the famine in paper and the world shortage in raw materials, which Saul Hartz was able to foresee. No one questions his power of looking ahead although he has paid a long price for it to the Devil. It has enabled him to corner, among other essential commodities, the inadequate supplies of news print. And when some years ago the crisis arose in the newspaper world, the entire British press had to make its choice—each individual journal, no matter what its traditions, must either enter the Ring on Saul Hartz’s terms or close down. The best of them preferred to close down. One or two carried on and still do so with the help of private backers. But they are no more than voices crying in the wilderness and I am assured, by those who know, that in every case they are heavy losers financially. To begin with, you see, running a newspaper is no longer a business proposition for anybody.”
Sir Josiah agreed. “For some time past I have been given to understand that the cost of paper and printing is prohibitive. Tatlow has to charge fourpence a day for the Blackhampton Monitor.”
“That’s because the Monitor is outside the Ring.”
“Quite so. And it’s about a quarter as good as the Blackhampton Mercury which charges three halfpence.”
“The explanation is simple. One has pages upon pages of advertising matter; the other has none.”
“Yes, of course.”
“There you have the key of the position. Advertisements are the life blood of the Press. The Ring says to every advertising agent in the country: ‘Advertise in any paper in the British Empire outside those controlled by us, and we refuse you all publicity.’ Just think what that means to any business community. And you must please bear in mind that the U. P. has not only corralled all the chief newspapers and the raw materials that create them, but also a fleet of airships to distribute its products. Moreover, the Transatlantic telephone, which has hardly been completed a year is now in the hands of Saul Hartz.”
Sir Munt sat up in his chair.
“By gum!” he said. “You don’t say!”
“Painfully true, I’m afraid. He has outwitted everybody including our own Government and that of the United States. During the last few months, events have been tending very rapidly towards the enslavement of the whole world. People don’t realize what this inner ring of newspaper Bosses with Saul Hartz at its head can do.”
“What is the Government about?”
“The Government is powerless. At least it chooses to be. For one must never forget that it is composed exclusively of nominees of the U. P.”
Sir Munt began to look worried. Ardent patriot and shrewd man of affairs, above all he was a man of business. The words of John Endor might sound alarmist, but the Mayor of Blackhampton knew there was a good deal behind them.
“Mr. Endor, if what you say’s correct, it’s high time some of us were up and doing.”
“I agree; but it may be too late. Hartz is now working night and day to get a ‘cinch’ on America.”
“That won’t be easy.”
“Easier perhaps than one may suppose. In the mass the Americans are just as gullible as ourselves. Hartz has been throwing dust in their eyes for years. The U. P. propaganda is always working on them as it is on us. Even now the average Briton is not alive to the menace of the whole country being run by one colossal trust. Give the American his due he has always kept that contingency in mind. Years ago he passed laws to prevent it. But the time is at hand when our friends across the water will have to look out, or Saul Hartz will be one too many for them. He has already got his foot well in. For some time now he has had a working arrangement with the Breit Combine, and if that mighty concern amalgamates with the U. P., as I’m assured it will, nothing on the face of this planet will be able to stand up against the power of antichrist.”
“Antichrist!”
“The shallow materialism of the western business brain, of which the man Saul Hartz is the prophet, is nothing less than that. Genius of a kind he has, no doubt, but he lacks the essential faculty, like others before him, of knowing when to stop. He sees World Power in front of him, and under present conditions he may be allowed to grasp it on terms easier than would have been exacted of Napoleon I and Wilhelm II.”
John Endor had many questions to answer in the course of a long interview, but in the end he was able to convince Sir Josiah Munt that the Newspaper Ring was the writing on the wall not merely for Great Britain, not merely for America, but for civilization itself. The instance from his own experience the member for Blackhampton East was able to adduce of the U. P.’s power of manipulating news, and the worth of the news when it had been manipulated, proved a clinching argument for that honest citizen.
“I must be up and doing.” That was the thought in the mind of Sir Munt as he shook hands with his visitor and ushered him to the door. So powerfully had the case against the Ring been urged by one whom the Mayor instinctively respected, that he felt already for once in his life the stern necessity of voting Yellow. Native caution prevented his letting the candidate know just what was in his mind; but as John Endor recrossed the Market Square to his committee rooms he was upheld by a feeling that he had gone some way towards getting a strong man on his side.
Well it was to have this food for the spirit. The fight, envenomed already by a felon stroke, was bound to be severe. And the odds now massed against him were so heavy that a nature less warlike might have been overwhelmed.