His First Day at Editing.

Yesterday morning Mr. Horace A. Hurlbut took formal possession of “The Chicago Times,” in compliance with the mandate of justice making him receiver of that institution. Bright and early he was at his post in “The Times” building; and the expression that coursed over his mobile features as he lolled back in the editorial chair, and abandoned himself to pleasing reflections, was an expression of conscious pride and ineffable satisfaction.

“I have now attained the summit and the goal of earthly ambition,” quoth Mr. Hurlbut to himself. “Embarking in the drug-business at an early age, I have progressed through the intermediate spheres of real estate, brokerage, and money-lending, until finally I have reached the top round of the ladder of fame, and am now the head of the greatest daily newspaper on the American continent. I expect and intend to prove myself equal to the demands which will be made upon me in this new capacity. I have my own notions about journalism,—they differ somewhat from the conventional notions that prevail, but that is neither here nor there; for, as the dictator of this great newspaper, I shall have no difficulty in putting my theories into practice.”

“Here’s the mornin’ mail, major,” said the office-boy, 230laying innumerable packages of letters and circulars on the table before Mr. Hurlbut.

“Why do you call me major?” inquired Mr. Hurlbut, with an amused twinkle in his eyes.

“Oh! we always call the editors majors,” replied the office-boy. “Major Dennett made that a rule long time ago.”

“It is not a bad idea,” said Major Hurlbut; “for it gives one a dignity and prestige which can never maintain among untitled civilians. So this is the morning mail, is it?”

Major Hurlbut picked up one of the letters, scrutinized the superscription, heaved a deep sigh, picked up several other letters, blushed, frowned, and appeared much embarrassed.

“Can you tell me,” he asked, “whether there are any reporters about this office by the names, or aliases, or nom de plume, or pseudonym, of ‘M 33,’ and ‘X 14,’ or ‘S 5,’ or ‘G 38’? I find numerous letters directed in this wise, and I mistrust that some unseemly work is being done under cover of these bogus appellations. I will make bold to examine one of these letters.”

So Major Hurlbut tore open one of the envelopes, and read as follows:—

“G 38, Times Office: I have a nice, quiet, furnished room. Call after eight o’clock P.M., at No. 1143 Elston Road.”

“As I suspected,” cried Major Hurlbut, with a profound groan. “Under these strange pseudonyms, 231the reporters of this paper are engaging in a carnival of vice! But the saturnalia must end at once. From this moment ‘The Times’ becomes a moral institution. I shall ascertain the names of these reporters, and have them peremptorily discharged!”

“H’yar’s a package for you, sah,” said the dusky porter, Martin Lewis, entering, and placing a small bundle before Major Hurlbut.

“Ah, yes! I see,” quoth the major. “They are the new cards I ordered last Saturday. We editors have to have cards, so as to let people know we are editors.”

With this philosophic observation, the major opened the bundle, and disclosed several hundred neat pasteboard cards, printed in red and black as follows:—

HORACE A. HURLBUT,

Receiver and Editor “Chicago Times.”

REAL ESTATE A SPECIALTY.

DRUG ORDERS PROMPTLY FILLED.

Loans Negotiated without Publicity.

“They are very handsome,” said Major Hurlbut, “but I am sorry I did not have the title of major prefixed to my name. However, I will take that precaution with the next lot I have printed.”

“Majah Dennett would like to speak with you, sah,” said Martin, the porter.

232“Although I am very busy with this mail, you may show him in,” remarked Major Hurlbut.

Major Dennett pigeon-toed his way into the new editor’s presence, and was loftily waved to a chair in which he dropped, and sat with his toes turned in. Major Hurlbut heaved a weary sigh, ran his fingers through his hair, and regarded his visitor with a condescending stare.

“This is a busy hour with us editors,” said Major Hurlbut, “therefore I hope you will state your business as succinctly as possible.”

“I merely called to receive orders,” explained Major Dennett, with an astonished look.

“Orders for what?” cried Major Hurlbut. “Perhaps you forget, sir, that I am out of the drug-business, and am an editor. Permit me, sir, to hand you one of my professional cards.”

“You mistake me, sir,” replied Major Dennett: “I am connected with this paper, and have been managing editor for many years.”

Major Hurlbut’s manner changed instantly. His cold reserve melted at once, and he became docile as a sucking-dove.

“My dear major,” he exclaimed cordially, “I am overjoyed to meet you. Draw your chair closer, and let us converse together upon matters which concern us both. Each of us has the interests of this great paper at heart; but I, as the head of the institution, have a fearful responsibility resting upon my shoulders. It behooves you 233to assist me; and, as the first and most important step, I must beg of you to inform me what is expected of me as an editor. I am willing and anxious to edit, but how can I?”

Major Dennett undertook to explain a few of the duties which would fall upon the editor’s shoulders, and would have continued talking all day had not the venerable Major Andre Matteson been ushered into the room, thereby interrupting the conversation. Upon being formally introduced to the new editor, Major Matteson inquired what the policy of “The Times” would be henceforward touching the tariff, the civil service, the war in the Soudan, and the doctrine of the transmigration of souls.

“I have not decided fully what the policy of the paper will be in these minor matters,” quoth Major Hurlbut, “except that we shall favor the abolition of the tariff on quinine, cochineal, and other drugs and dyestuffs. I have made up my mind, however, to advocate the opening of a boulevard in Fleabottom subdivision; and, as you are one of the editorial writers, Major Matteson, I would like to have you compose a piece about the folly of extending the Thirtieth-street sewer through the Bosbyshell subdivision. And you may give the firm of Brown, Jones, & Co. a raking over, for they have seriously interfered with the sale of my lots out in that part of the city.”

Major George McConnell and Major Guy Magee 234filed into the room at this juncture, and were formally presented to Editor Hurlbut, who looked impressive, and received them with a dignity that would have done credit to a pagan court.

“I had hoped to be in a position to boom the city department of the paper,” said Major Magee; “but I find that three of the reporters are sick with headache to-day.”

“Sick? What appears to be the matter?” asked the editor.

“I didn’t ask them,” replied Major Magee; “but they said they had headaches.”

“They should try bromide of potassium, tincture of valerian, and aromatic spirits of ammonia,” observed Major Hurlbut. “By the way, whenever any of our editors or reporters get sick, they should come to me; for I can give them prescriptions that will fix them up in less than no time.”

“I presume the policy of the paper touching the theatres will remain unchanged?” inquired Major McConnell.

“That reminds me,” said Major Hurlbut: “who gets the show-tickets?”

“Well, I have attended to that detail heretofore,” replied Major McConnell.

“We get as many as we want, don’t we?” asked Major Hurlbut.

“Certainly,” said Major McConnell.

“Well, then, we must give the shows good notices,” said the editor: “and, by the way, I 235would like to have you leave six tickets with me every morning; they will come in mighty handy, you know, among my friends. Do we get railroad-passes too?”

“Yes, all we want,” said Major Dennett.

“I am glad I am an editor,” said Major Hurlbut softly but feelingly.

The foreman came in.

“Shall we set it in nonpareil to-night?” he asked.

“Eh?” ejaculated Editor Hurlbut.

“Does nonpareil go?” repeated the foreman.

“What has he been doing?” inquired Editor Hurlbut.

“The minion is so bad that we ought to put the paper in nonpareil,” explained the foreman.

“It must be understood,” thundered Major Hurlbut, “that no bad minions will be tolerated on the premises. If there is any minion here who is dissatisfied, let him quit at once.”

“Then, I am to fire the minion?” asked the foreman.

“No,” said Major Hurlbut, “do not fire him, for that would constitute arson; discharge him, but use no violence.”

We deeply regret that this astute mandate was followed by an interchange of sundry smiles, nods, and winks between the foreman and the members of the editorial staff, which, however, Major Hurlbut did not see, or he most assuredly would have reproved this unseemly and mal-apropos levity.

236And so they talked and talked. And each moment Major Hurlbut became more and more impressed with the importance and solemnity of the new dignity he had attained, and each moment he became more and more impressive in his mien and conversation. And each moment, too, he silently and devoutly thanked High Heaven that in its goodness and mercy it had called him to the ennobling profession of journalism.