SfieMANWHO 
 BUCKED UP 
 
 ARTHUR HOWARD 
 
 932&MAN 
 WHO DID IT
 
 The Man Who Bucked Up
 
 THE 
 
 Man Who Bucked Up 
 
 A Fact Story 
 
 By 
 ARTHUR HOWARD 
 
 GABDEN CITY KEW YORK 
 
 DOUBLEDAY. PAGE & COMPANY 
 1912
 
 Copyright, 1912, by 
 
 THE McCLURE PUBLICATIONS, Incorporated 
 New York 
 
 Copyright, 1912, by 
 
 DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 
 
 All rights reserved, including that of 
 
 translation into foreign languages, 
 
 including the Scandinavian
 
 TO 
 WILLIAM H. SANBORN- 
 
 AND 
 
 G. EDWIN ALLEN 
 " BILL " AND " ED " 
 
 2136304
 
 The Man Who Bucked Up
 
 The Man Who Bucked Up 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 WHEN I signed my name to the check 
 at Sherry's on August 21, 1908, I 
 realized there was no more Sherry's 
 for me. Perhaps that accounted for the 
 excellent appetite I had. I ordered, I remem- 
 ber, oysters, egg aurore, a squab and heart-of- 
 lettuce salad. Then I had a demi-tasse and 
 my special Havana cigar. 
 
 As I rose and passed out of the big dining- 
 room, the waiters stood at attention. I had 
 been a good customer of Sherry's. I was 
 something of a specialist in dining. In three 
 years my bills in that one restaurant had been 
 over seven thousand dollars. 
 
 131
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 Just for the irony of it, I passed a dollar to 
 the head waiter; the boy who handed me my 
 hat and coat took the quarter I handed him 
 without a word. 
 
 And so I left Sherry's with the remains of 
 my last twenty-five dollars in my pocket and 
 walked down Fifth Avenue swinging my cane 
 like the rest of them. 
 
 I was through; and I knew I was through. 
 It had been months coming, and I had settled 
 it once and for all. I had taken one more 
 plunge in Wall Street; it was one grand .and 
 glorious dip, and it went against me. I was 
 long some five thousand shares; that is, the 
 brokers had five hundred thousand dollars 
 par of stocks for me. They sold me out and 
 I was done. 
 
 The final interview with my father, held 
 before luncheon, was very painful on both 
 sides; stormy on my part because I was like 
 
 [4]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 a rat driven into a corner; kindly on his part, 
 because he realized more than I did the dread- 
 ful position in which he saw me. To my 
 statement that he owed me twenty -five dol- 
 lars, he acquiesced without a word; and if I 
 recollect correctly, there were tears in his 
 eyes as he laid his hand on my shoulder saying, 
 "I am sorry for you, my boy, but I cannot 
 help you any more." 
 
 I knew that father did not owe me the 
 twenty -five dollars, and he knew it also; but, 
 as is too often the case, it is a habit of sons to 
 make such requests of good fathers. 
 
 My father was Joseph P. Howard of How- 
 ard & Co, the well-known New York jewellers. 
 During the civil war he had been a partner 
 in Tiffany & Co., starting out for himself 
 in 1866 under the name of Howard & Co. 
 His first store was near City Hall on Broad- 
 way, moving to Broadway and Tenth Street, 
 
 [51
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 later occupying the store where Huyler is 
 now at Seventeeth Street and Broadway. 
 My father was the first retail merchant to open 
 a store on Fifth Avenue, moving there in 
 1871, and had been there since. 
 
 That afternoon I sailed alone in the Fall 
 River boat for Boston. Why Boston? I 
 really don't know. One place seemed as good 
 as another for me then. But I was through 
 with New York the place where I was born 
 and where my life had been. I walked the 
 deck until ten o'clock and reflected. 
 
 I was thirty-eight years old and a failure. 
 I had had my day. In the past twenty years 
 I had had money left me three times. And . 
 now I was leaving it all. Behind me were 
 debts of nearly one hundred thousand dollars 
 more; my assets were the contents of my 
 travelling-bag and the remnants of the twenty- 
 five dollars from my father. 
 
 [61
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 There were two men I knew on board. 
 Twice Colfax had passed me on the deck and 
 twice he had bowed good old Colfax! 
 One of my most constant companions in New 
 York, one of my staunchest admirers, and 
 one of those who believed in me. He did not 
 want to ask me where I was going, and I 
 could not have told him if he had asked. 
 Libby, my broker, in whose office I had 
 dropped sixty-eight thousand dollars, was on 
 the boat, too. 
 
 It was about eleven o'clock when I heard, 
 from my stateroom, a man's voice on the deck 
 saying: "I guess Howard is up against it 
 hard this time." 
 
 I raised my head from the pillow. It was 
 Libby talking to Colfax. 
 
 "My people were carrying three thousand 
 shares of stock for him, and we sold him out. 
 He was eighty thousand dollars in the hole. 
 
 [7]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 His father came up with thirty thousand 
 dollars, and we took a mortgage on his home. 
 Bad business all around, and it is not over 
 yet; there is still due us a matter of some ten 
 or twelve thousand dollars." 
 
 "Howard was a good fellow," said Colfax's 
 voice. "Dreadfully reckless. I remember 
 one great time he gave Maud and me at Del- 
 monico's. It was nine o'clock when we 
 finished dinner, and Maud made some chance 
 remark about the theatre. Nothing would 
 do for Howard but to rush us off to the 
 theatre in his usual style taxicab, box, and 
 supper afterward." 
 
 "Perfect damn fool," said Libby. "One 
 of the kind that gives away all he has, and 
 then commits suicide or takes to drink." 
 
 "Well," replied Coif ax, "if you call a man 
 a damn fool because he gets into debt the 
 country is full of 'em. But I know Howard 
 
 [8]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 better than you do. There is too much good 
 in him either to commit suicide or take to 
 drink." 
 
 There was a knock on my door. I opened 
 it, and saw the steward with some whiskey 
 on a tray. 
 
 "Your order," he said. 
 
 "How much?" I queried. 
 
 "Thirty cents, sir," he replied. "Where 
 shall I put it?" 
 
 "Take it away," I said shortly, gave him a 
 half dollar and banged the door. 
 
 The men outside had gone. I turned in 
 again, my head full of curious thoughts. Ten 
 minutes later I was asleep. 
 
 Five-thirty found me up and dressed, 
 standing impatiently in the line of passengers 
 on the deck at Fall River. 
 
 An hour later found me in the South Sta- 
 tion. Boston seemed a new world to me, and 
 
 [91
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 my inquiry at the information bureau elicited 
 the reply that boarding-houses were on Bea- 
 con Hill. I soon found myself crossing the 
 Common to Beacon Street. There I could 
 scarcely credit any of the fine houses as my 
 future home. A man of about my own age 
 stood on the corner. I asked if he knew where 
 the boarding-houses were located. He was 
 most courteous and told me that there was 
 an excellent house on Willow Street named 
 the Hermitage, offering further to take me 
 there a block away. As we walked along 
 my new friend informed me that his name was 
 Frederick W. Peabody and that he was an attor- 
 ney on Tremont Street. I handed him my card. 
 
 "You belong to the New York Yacht 
 Club, I see," he said, reading as he spoke. 
 
 "I did," I replied. 
 
 "There is no occasion to tell me that," he 
 said, "I did not ask it." 
 
 [10]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 "Well," I replied, "I believe in telling the 
 truth." 
 
 "Always?" asked Mr. Peabody. 
 
 "No, recently," I answered. 
 
 "From your remark I observe you are an 
 ex-liar," laughed Mr. Peabody. 
 
 At that moment we stood before the 
 Hermitage. 
 
 "My reputation in that line has recently 
 become almost notorious," I replied. 
 
 The atmosphere of New England is dif- 
 ferent from that of New York. Yankees are 
 likely to judge a man by his real worth, not 
 by his financial rating. It so turned out then 
 that after Mr. Peabody had introduced me 
 to the janitor he in turn introduced me to all 
 the men staying in the house. The man 
 occupying the room next to mine was named 
 Ralph Lee. 
 
 In a few minutes Howard, the bankrupt, 
 [11]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 Sam^the janitor, and Lee, the printer, were 
 breakfasting together at Childs's. Lee was 
 a curious fellow. He looked poverty-stricken, 
 yet well-fed; his clothes were frayed and old; 
 his face full and ruddy. We smoked after- 
 ward; Sam, a corncob; Lee, a cigarette; I a 
 cigar. And so my new life began. 
 
 I can't say I took it over-seriously at first. 
 Seriousness had never been a fault of mine. 
 For the first month I drifted; but I drifted, as 
 I see now, always in one direction. 
 
 All my life I had been interested in writing 
 and printing. I had found time from my 
 business to become the author of several 
 books published, by the way, at my own 
 expense. 
 
 Lee, the job printer, had asked me to visit 
 his shop in Cornhill. I wandered in and saw 
 him that afternoon a shabby man in a 
 little, shabby, inky room, littered with proofs. 
 
 [12]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 Afterward Lee and I went to supper, ^ 'here 
 Lee ordered apple pie and coffee, and I steak. 
 Neither of us talked much. My remarks 
 were chiefly in regard to the printing business 
 and I gleaned a lot of information from him in 
 the two hours that we talked. We returned 
 to the Hermitage together. He went directly 
 to his room ; I to mine. I threw myself into a 
 rocker, ran my hands into my pockets, felt of 
 the last seven dollars to my name, mused a 
 while over it, then suddenly arose and seizing a 
 newspaper read the thing through, ads and all. 
 
 The next day was Sunday. As I sat there 
 in my rocker reading the Boston Globe, I 
 saw that Joe Howard, its New York corre- 
 spondent, had died. 
 
 I knew Joe Howard well; he was my second 
 cousin a jovial, social fellow, around town 
 all the first of the week. On Thursdays he 
 used to disappear, saying: 
 
 [13]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 "I've got to write my weekly sermon for 
 those Puritans up in New England." 
 
 It always seemed to me a very agreeable 
 way of making a living. The next day I 
 called upon the editor of the Globe and asked 
 to continue Joe Howard's column. The 
 editor was agreeable, but firm. "Joe How- 
 ard's place," he said, "can never be filled; 
 and that column is closed forever." How- 
 ever, he seemed very much entertained by 
 my conversation and advised me to write for 
 the newspapers. 
 
 "Shall I submit something to the Globe?'* 
 I ventured to ask. 
 
 "No," he replied, with a twinkle in his 
 eye. "From your conversation I infer that 
 your matter would be of a humorous and 
 personal nature, appreciated in a smaller city 
 like Brockton or Salem." 
 
 "Salem is where my people come from," 
 [M]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 I remarked, rising to go, for I could see that 
 this kindly editor really thought I or my prop- 
 osition was a bit of a joke. 
 
 "It's a fine old town," said he, as he shook 
 my hand and most graciously bowed me out 
 of the door. 
 
 I can't say why, but for some reason his 
 suggestion about going to Salem stayed in 
 my head. 
 
 That night I had two dollars left. I was 
 becoming very much worried. The next 
 morning I awoke early; one always does when 
 broke. Lee and I had breakfast together at 
 Childs's. I cut out the eggs and substituted 
 griddles and coffee. Lee went off to business, 
 leaving me reading the newspapers. As I 
 sat there an item caught my eye. A man 
 who yesterday had been in comfortable cir- 
 cumstances, apparently, to-day was in ter- 
 rible straits out of money, out of home, 
 
 [15]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 and almost out of friends. It is not strange 
 that it suggested a theme to me; and as a 
 matter of fact, before I had reached the Com- 
 mon that morning it began to take definite 
 shape. I found a vacant seat near the Frog 
 Pond, and there in the presence of the splash- 
 ing fountain I wrote a poem that I called 
 "Sunshine and Rain." I took it to an even- 
 ing newspaper and they gave me six dollars 
 for it. That night I spent a good share of it 
 on a dinner with Lee at the Parker House. 
 Then for three days I was the same old 
 Arthur Howard. As the days went by I 
 wrote innumerable poems, but they all ap- 
 parently lacked the inspired touch. No one 
 would buy them. 
 
 In no time I was strapped again, and for 
 the first time in my life I went to bed hungry, 
 reading in an evening paper the poem that 
 I had written a few days before. Here it is : 
 
 [16]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 SUNSHINE AND RAIN 
 
 I will love you in the sunshine, 
 But I'll leave you in the rain. 
 Did I promise when we married? 
 Well! at least I've kept your name. 
 We said "richer," we said "poorer," 
 But of course it's not the same, 
 For I'll love you in the sunshine, 
 But I'll leave you in the rain. 
 
 I am young and I am pretty, 
 I'll be happy by myself; 
 I'll not follow you in trouble, 
 And be put upon the shelf. 
 When you've money, come and seek me, 
 For our tastes are just the same; 
 And I'll love you in the sunshine, 
 But I'll leave you in the rain. 
 [17]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 There is some one living somewhere 
 
 Who is lonesome, sad, but true; 
 
 All his thoughts are turning homeward, 
 
 Little woman, just of you. 
 
 And in exile there comes daily 
 
 A remembrance and refrain, 
 
 That she loved him in the sunshine, 
 
 But she left him in the rain. 
 
 [181
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 I HAD always been what is termed a moral 
 coward; whether I was a physical cow- 
 ard or not I had yet to learn. My life 
 had been spent up to this time surrounded 
 with every possible comfort, amid conditions 
 that were quite free from physical dangers. 
 It takes no especial courage to frequent fash- 
 ionable hotels, whether in New York, London 
 or Paris. In all these places I was welcome. 
 But when it came to my debts and I was 
 pressed for payment I always refused to 
 face the issue unless I actually had the 
 money gave an evasive answer and prom- 
 ised anything. Furthermore, I detested 
 stormy interviews, so that I was always ready 
 to compromise the issue if I might thereby 
 
 [19]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 escape the storm. Of course it must be 
 remembered, in passing judgment, that I had 
 the name and financial reputation of a 
 big firm behind me and a father who 
 was indulgent to fall back on in times of dire 
 need. 
 
 But to return to my narrative: Events 
 were moving rapidly for me now. Boston 
 was becoming bigger and lonelier every hour. 
 I was beginning to feel greatly in need of some 
 one to whom I might go with my troubles; 
 but, like the Prodigal Son, I gradually came 
 unto myself and beheld a changed man. 
 Not too thoroughly changed, but changed. 
 Several little things came up to show it. 
 When Sam came to me with a bill of four 
 dollars for room rent, I frankly told him that 
 I was dead broke and that there was not a 
 chance in the world of my paying it. That 
 marked some small gain at least in moral 
 
 [20]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 strength. Sam roared with laughter, for 
 some unaccountable reason, declared I was 
 the smartest fellow he had ever met and 
 took me to breakfast. 
 
 When we returned to the Hermitage I 
 found a letter for me forwarded from New 
 York. It was re-addressed to me from my 
 lawyer, whom I had instructed to forward all 
 mail. I tore it open and there fell out some 
 thirty-five dollars in cash, sent anonymously. 
 The writing on the envelope, however, told 
 the whole story it was from Colfax. Sam 
 got his four dollars and I felt like a prince 
 when I paid it. 
 
 I spent this as freely as I had the rest. 
 When it was gone I met a Boston man who 
 had been in school with me. When I told 
 him I was in hard luck, he insisted on giving 
 me a card to the Union Club. "You can 
 take your meals there while you are getting 
 
 [21]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 started," said he. So for two weeks more my 
 board was provided. 
 
 I tried for work in a big department store; 
 for a day I was a book agent; and all the time 
 I haunted newspaper offices. 
 
 Then, in the first part of October, I took a 
 desperate and unsuccessful plunge. I formed 
 a company of entertainers, backed by another 
 man at the Hermitage (my rooming house), 
 and we started out to entertain in the public 
 hall of Pepperell, a town near Boston. The 
 carfare and hotel bill were forty-three dol- 
 lars. We had in the house some fifteen 
 people. Seeing this, I circulated among the 
 audience and returned their money, and had 
 the local telephone operator notify every- 
 body she could reach that the show was free. 
 And then they didn't come! 
 
 It was a sad night for me. The next morn- 
 ing I sent the rest of the company home, 
 
 [22]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 and had to walk myself seven miles from 
 Pepperell to Nashua Junction, with two 
 dress-suit cases, to get back to Boston. And 
 I owed my fellow member of the boarding- 
 house over forty dollars which fye had ad- 
 vanced to me. And now I was getting down 
 to bedrock. I fell back on my wardrobe. 
 
 I was always a great believer in clothes 
 from a business standpoint, especially in New 
 York. If I intended to go back into business 
 in New York to-morrow, the first and best 
 investment I could make would be to put 
 fifteen hundred dollars into clothes. A man 
 can do almost anything in New York on the 
 strength of a fifteen-hundred-dollar wardrobe. 
 In Boston, I had kept up appearances care- 
 fully. I doubt if my fellow roomers really 
 appreciated just the condition I was in. 
 
 They had sent on my clothes from home. 
 In this wardrobe, as I remember it, there were 
 
 [23]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 fourteen suits of clothes, five overcoats, 
 something over one hundred neckties, and 
 some fifteen pairs of shoes. They were no 
 cheap clothes; not a suit had cost me less 
 than eighty dollars. There were two suits 
 of evening clothes. One of these was a real 
 suit of clothes. It had cost me one hundred 
 and sixty-five dollars, and it was worth it. 
 I never saw a better one in my life. My ward- 
 robe was bankable; I got ninety-three dollars 
 on it all, and out of this I paid for my theat- 
 rical venture. 
 
 I was through with theatres and high- 
 priced hotels now. I ate with Lee, the job 
 printer, at a dairy restaurant. 
 
 I was very glad I knew Lee. He was a 
 great help to me, for he was a real expert on 
 cheap feeding. He always looked well fed 
 and rosy, and his face was unmarked with 
 care; yet he spent almost nothing for food, 
 
 [24]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 and he did it on a carefully worked out 
 theory. 
 
 Little by little he explained this to me. 
 Popcorn balls were his staple. At a cent 
 apiece, they were as filling as eggs. Two 
 were ample for breakfast. Squash pie at five 
 cents was equal to a small steak; with milk or 
 coffee it made an excellent dinner. Tea 
 must be avoided it made you hungry. 
 Coffee, on the other hand, was excellent 
 it killed the appetite. Gradually I learned 
 from Lee the first lesson of the poverty- 
 stricken man in the city. It is not quality 
 or even nutriment that you must have first; 
 it is something to fill you up. 
 
 Toward the last of October I was down and 
 out in earnest. My money had dwindled 
 till I could count my nickels on the fingers of 
 one hand. Then there was one last spasm of 
 luck for me. My house in New York had 
 
 [25]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 been sold under foreclosure. I had got no 
 less than five mortgages on it, and my equity 
 in it was not usable. But there was twenty- 
 five dollars and thirty cents of rebate on 
 insurance which was rightfully mine, and 
 this was sent on to me. 
 
 As already hinted, I began to have an un- 
 controllable desire to visit, I may say inhabit, 
 printing offices. I spent several weeks going 
 from one newspaper office to another watch- 
 ing the various operations that take place in 
 them. No one seemed to take the slightest 
 interest in me as I wandered about from room 
 to room, and from machine to machine. 
 Perhaps they were too busy with the endless 
 rush of business to be concerned with my 
 ramblings. The life fascinated me, so that I 
 often stayed way into the early morning hours. 
 No step escaped my attention. As a result, 
 I frequently found myself crossing the Com- 
 
 [26]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 mon at two or three in the morning, although 
 I had been cautioned repeatedly that it was 
 a risky thing to do, as the place was infested 
 by dangerous characters. But somehow I 
 did not seem to care. I had become, poten- 
 tially at least, a dangerous character myself. 
 This was part of the change. I felt myself 
 in a somewhat desperate state of mind that 
 made me careful in the spending of my meagre 
 money, while at the same time reckless of my 
 person. In fact, I rarely thought of myself 
 in respect to personal harm. It seemed now 
 part of my daily life to take a chance. And 
 many a night I said good-night to a companion 
 from one of the newspaper offices as he left 
 me to walk around the Common, while I 
 plunged into the shadow of the trees, passed 
 down by the shore of the Pond and slowly 
 made my way to the Hermitage. But with 
 all my recklessness and apparent don't-care 
 
 [27]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 spirit, I took particular care of my clothes 
 and was always carefully shaved. It is a 
 practical truth, at least among strangers, if 
 not always among friends, that clothes make 
 the man. Whether we like it or not, whether 
 it is right or not, outside show passes for a 
 whole lot in this present age. Lee, on the 
 other hand, was usually in rags and unshaven, 
 but cheerful. Sunny Jim might well have 
 been his name. His meals were uniformly 
 the same pie and coffee varied occasion- 
 ally by an egg sandwich. 
 
 A few days after this, as Lee and I were 
 eating breakfast together in silence, my eye 
 fell on the following item in the Boston Post: 
 
 SALEM "GAZETTE" CLOSES 
 
 OLDEST PAPER IN THE STATE ENDS ITS 
 CAREER 
 
 SALEM, MASS. The Salem Gazette, founded 
 in 1768, ceased publication to-day. It has 
 
 [28]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 been recently issued as a daily. There are 
 no assets or liabilities. It died a natural 
 death. The old plant is now doing job work. 
 
 The old newspaper in the town of my an- 
 cestors! The suggestion which had come to 
 me when I talked with the editor of the Globe 
 returned to my mind. I could go back again, 
 perhaps, and find a living in the place my 
 people had sprung from. I took the first 
 train for Salem. 
 
 It was noon before I arrived in the town of 
 my fathers. The Gazette machinery and 
 franchise were owned, it seemed, by Robin 
 Damon, the proprietor of the only daily 
 newspaper in the city. I entered the rather 
 pretentious office of the News, and waited 
 for its owner, who was out. 
 
 Presently he came in a thick-set, 
 heavy- jowled, red-headed man. 
 
 "Is this Mr. Damon?" I asked. 
 [291
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Do you own the Gazette?" I inquired. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "I wanted to buy it," I said smiling. 
 
 "It is not for sale," he cut in, turning and 
 sitting down to a book which lay on his desk. 
 
 He was a type I was not unfamiliar with. 
 For five minutes I stood perfectly still, wait- 
 ing for further signs of action at the end 
 of which time he arose and came brusquely 
 toward me. 
 
 "Can I do anything for you?" he inquired 
 sarcastically. 
 
 "Will you give me permission to publish 
 the Gazette?" I asked suavely. 
 
 "Where are you from?" said Mr. Damon. 
 
 "New York," I answered, with my best 
 smile. 
 
 "New York! Well, you had better go 
 back again," he growled. "Plenty of men 
 [80]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 have tried to publish a daily paper in Salem, 
 but the people here are satisfied with the 
 News. We have covered this field for thirty 
 years. There's no chance for another paper 
 to break in here. It would cost a small for- 
 tune, and only a fool would try it." 
 
 He made a grimace, apparently intended 
 for a smile, checked himself, gave me a cold 
 stare, and turned and sat down again with a 
 grunt. I had a feeling that I should leave. 
 I excuted my best dancing-school bow, smiled 
 benignly upon the entire office force, and left 
 the office. 
 
 Two minutes later, as I was sauntering 
 down the street, I turned around and came 
 face to face with a man who was following me. 
 I recognized him as one of the men employed 
 in the News office. 
 
 I don't like opposition; I was always a 
 spoiled child. This thing grated on my finer 
 
 [31]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 sensibilities. Besides, I had over twenty 
 dollars in my pocket. I turned back and 
 stepped into the first bank I came to. Two 
 employees were swapping stories, which they 
 seemed under some obligation to finish before 
 they looked at me. Presently I caught the 
 eye of the taller of the two and said, "I am 
 thinking of starting a daily newspaper in 
 Salem. Where could I get a reporter?" 
 
 Both men started as if shot. The man to 
 whom I addressed my remark, burst out 
 laughing. "I admire your nerve," he roared. 
 
 "I know, but that man over there in the 
 News office was so insulting to me, and was 
 so cocksure that only a fool would attempt to 
 make a go of a newspaper in this town, that I've 
 quite made up my mind to take a chance." 
 
 "It's an awful chance. Old Damon is a 
 bad one when he gets going, and never has 
 tolerated any rivals." 
 
 [32]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 "Well, he'll tolerate me," I said quietly. 
 
 "All right, go ahead, and here's wishing 
 you good luck. As a matter of fact the mer- 
 chants of this place have been anxious for a 
 new paper for a number of years, for they are 
 now at the mercy of this one paper. But 
 Damon controls everything in the newspaper 
 line, and I guess it can't be done." 
 
 "How can he stop me?" I asked. 
 
 "Don't know that he can," said the banker, 
 "but he'll make a good try." 
 
 The idea amused them heartily. They 
 told me that fourteen separate men had ap- 
 peared with fourteen different newspapers and 
 all had gone down before Damon. Never- 
 theless they referred me to a man who might 
 know about a reporter George Day, a 
 local tailor. 
 
 [33]
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 AS I entered George Day's shop, he 
 arose from his chair in a business-like 
 way, but after a glance at me from 
 head to foot, he sat down again. 
 
 "I am not a customer," I said. "I come 
 for information." 
 
 "Political?" inquired Mr. Day. 
 "Oh, my! no," I said. "I am not a poli- 
 tician." 
 
 "Well, whatever you come for, sit down 
 and make yourself at home; at least you are 
 somebody new, and they are scarce and al- 
 ways welcome," said Mr. Day. 
 
 "Am I the only stranger that has come into 
 the city recently?" I inquired, seating myself. 
 Day filled his pipe and his eyes twinkled. 
 [341
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 After lighting it carefully, he said: "You 
 confess you are a stranger. They are rare in 
 Salem. They often pass through, but one 
 look is enough they instantly take the first 
 car or train back to where they came from. 
 The fact is Salem is in wrong; too much 
 'witch* business; it seems to scare the new- 
 comer. As a business proposition, the city 
 is dead." 
 
 "That's too bad," I replied, "because I 
 came here to go into business." 
 
 "Got a license?" said Mr. Day. 
 
 "A license for what?" I asked. 
 
 "To sell booze," replied Day. 
 
 "Certainly not," I laughed. "Do I look 
 like a liquor dealer?" 
 
 "No, you do not; but the booze business 
 is the only chance of making any money 
 here." 
 
 "How about the clothing business? You 
 [35]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 seem to do business here," I said looking at 
 his stock of goods. 
 
 "Look here," said Day, with considerable 
 animation, "don't think for a minute that 
 I am a native I come from Boston. I 
 came here one day fourteen years ago 
 and have never been able to get away 
 
 since." 
 
 "Isn't any one here sport enough to stake 
 you for the fare?" I asked. 
 
 "It isn't that, but I married a Salem girl," 
 replied Day. 
 
 "And the Salem girls are ' 
 
 "Mrs. Day is a good fellow," he replied. 
 
 "Your family is an exception," I said 
 blandly. "It is rare that two good fellows 
 happen in one family!" 
 
 "Cut out the 'con' business," he said, 
 shortly. "It doesn't go with me." 
 
 I smiled and blew a volume of smoke into 
 [36]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 the air. We both smoked on in silence. 
 Presently I handed him a cigar. 
 
 "I never refuse," he said, laying aside his 
 pipe. 
 
 We continued to smoke, each watching the 
 other. The silence grew awkward, so I 
 cleared my throat. 
 
 "To be frank with you/* I said, "I came to 
 Salem to start a daily paper. I am looking 
 for a reporter, and incidentally some infor- 
 mation about Salem." 
 
 " Do you mean to tell me that you are going 
 to start a newspaper here and yet are not 
 familiar with the conditions in this town?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "I never thought of Salem until 9 A. M. 
 to-day," I replied. 
 
 "But why Salem?" asked Day. 
 
 "Well, one place is as good as another, and 
 Salem, it seems, has but one paper. It looks 
 
 [37]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 like a busy place, and my grandfather was 
 born here, and the conditions look good." 
 
 Day put his head back and whistled, "Pull 
 for the shore, sailor, pull for the shore," after 
 which he said: 
 
 "Mr. Stranger " 
 
 "Mr. Howard," I cut in. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Howard, you came here for a 
 reporter and for information. I'll give you 
 the latter and then you can select the former, 
 if you have the nerve." 
 
 "Nerve" seemed to be in the air. 
 
 "Salem," he continued, "is a hotbed of 
 political misdeeds. It is run by four cliques. 
 First and foremost is Colonel Peterson, a 
 contractor, who has dominated county poli- 
 tics for years. He does all the dirty political 
 work in this section for the big men in the state. 
 He was twice mayor and would be still, only 
 a minister, who has since left here, told him 
 [38]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 that if he ever dared run for office again he 
 would come back and tell the truth about him. 
 Some men are afraid of the truth here. Then 
 there are the McSweeney brothers, three of 
 them William, Morgan, and Parker. William 
 is an alderman and a republican; his partner, 
 Morgan, is a democrat; Parker is an indepen- 
 dent; so that no matter what party you line up 
 with, one of the brothers is with you." 
 
 "How about the prohibition party?" I 
 asked. 
 
 "They are all members of a temperance 
 club and do not drink," he said. 
 
 "How about the liquor interests?" 
 
 "McSweeney brothers are lawyers and 
 attorneys for most of the liquor people," he 
 replied. 
 
 "Cinch," I said. 
 
 "Open and shut," he replied; and con- 
 tinued: "The third party is headed by the 
 
 [S9]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 present mayor, John F. Hurley. Hurley 
 always has two thousand votes in his vest 
 pocket; consequently, any time that three 
 candidates are put up, John F. wins out." 
 
 " He has run before? " I asked. 
 
 "Eleven times, and will run until 'Hell 
 freezes over." 
 
 "Why should the fact of 'Hell's freezing 
 over* interfere with Salem?" I asked. 
 
 "I spoke politically," he replied, " and politi- 
 cally Salem is Hell. The fourth party is made 
 up of the old aristocrats and the business 
 men. They flit from Peterson to McSweeney 
 and to Hurley as it appears expedient." 
 
 "Why doesn't the News tell all this?" I 
 inquired. 
 
 Day laughed. "The News is all parties; 
 
 it is hopelessly involved. Colonel Peterson 
 
 is a friend of Mr. Damon; the McSweeneys 
 
 are friends of the News reporters; and for 
 
 [40]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 respectability's sake the policy of the News is 
 to be in with the aristocrats and business men." 
 
 "Then how is John F. Hurley elected?" I 
 asked. 
 
 " Simple," said Day. " The people hate the 
 News because it has slandered so many fami- 
 lies in town, so that every once in a while the 
 people rise in their wrath and vote for John F. 
 just to spite the News. Twenty years ago 
 Damon had to skip to Europe for two years 
 to avoid arrest for libel! It was patched up 
 in his absence and he returned 'improved in 
 health.' Since then he has been more cautious. 
 But the News is the limit. It says just what 
 it pleases, whether it be true or not." 
 
 "It looks like a money-maker," I said, pick- 
 ing up a copy. "There are plenty of ads." 
 
 "Sure thing. We have to advertise in it 
 or get slammed." 
 
 "How would it be if I told afl about the 
 [41]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 Colonel, the McSweeneys, John F. Hurley and 
 the News? Would the people like it?" I 
 asked. 
 
 "Like it! They'd eat it up. But have you 
 got money enough?" 
 
 "How much would it take?" 
 
 "Sixty thousand dollars, the News says." 
 
 "I haven't got any," I said. 
 
 "How can you do it then?" 
 
 "I don't know, but I'm going to try," I re- 
 plied quietly, handing him another cigar and 
 lighting one myself. 
 
 "Look here, Mr. Howard," he exclaimed. 
 " You will make a ten-strike in this town, but, 
 remember, if you hit one you hit all. You 
 cannot trust any one. Everybody here is 
 mixed up with some crowd, and if you do as 
 you intimate, this city will turn turtle. Per- 
 sonally I believe the people want it, and after 
 all, you will only have to tell the truth. Fact 
 [42]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 is, no one has ever showed them up. But," 
 he hesitated, "it requires nerve. Have you 
 got it?" 
 
 "Nerve" again! 
 
 Before I had a chance to reply, he said, 
 "When do you start?" 
 
 "To-morrow." 
 
 "Why so soon?" 
 
 "Because I want to get going before any 
 one knows it." 
 
 "But no one knows it," he rejoined. 
 
 "You do," I replied. 
 
 "But you don't believe I would tell, do 
 you?" 
 
 "I don't know that you would; but I am 
 taking your advice," I added. 
 
 "What?" he asked. 
 
 "To trust no one." 
 
 He held out his hand. "You're the boy, 
 Howard," he exclaimed. "But, gee! I can 
 
 [43J
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 see your troubles coming faster than hail- 
 stones." 
 
 "Man is born to trouble as the sparks 
 fly upward/ " I quoted as I arose, took a paper 
 along with me and left the room. 
 
 [44]
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 TWENTY minutes later I was reading 
 in the Public Library the old files of 
 the News. When it started thirty 
 years before, it was not much more than a 
 hand-bill, as full of typographical errors as 
 anything could be and remain understandable. 
 What I knew about newspapers was nothing, 
 but I could certainly start as good a one as 
 Mr. Damon had. 
 
 That evening, about eight o'clock, I 
 visited Lee at his printing-plant in Corn- 
 hill. I had a business proposition to make 
 to him. When I asked if he would print 
 a newspaper for me, he almost collapsed 
 with joy. His price was fifteen dollars a 
 day. 
 
 [45]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 I offered him five dollars. He hesitated. 
 " Cash," I added. He accepted. 
 
 I sat down at once, and in a couple of hours 
 I handed him my copy, which he started im- 
 mediately to set into type. There was no 
 sleep for us that night. At four o'clock the 
 press work was all done. On the first train I 
 took out to Salem the first five hundred copies 
 of the Morning Dispatch. Four hundred and 
 fifty of them I left at the local newsdealers and 
 went into a nearby restaurant for breakfast. 
 
 The restaurant was a few doors from the 
 News office. As I stepped out of it, Mr. 
 Damon, its editor, came tearing up in his 
 automobile. And as he came to the curb, 
 the man who had been following me the day 
 before stepped up and handed him a copy of 
 my new sheet. He tore it open, gave a jerky 
 laugh and, crushing it in his hand, walked into 
 his office.
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 No doubt his contemptuous laugh was 
 justified. Yet, it was music to me to hear the 
 voices of two subsidized newsboys singing 
 out, "Dispatch! Dispatch!" before his office. 
 
 Then I walked over to Day's tailor shop. 
 It was full of men, to whom Day introduced 
 me with a sweep of his hand. I gave each of 
 them a copy of my paper. Day was the first 
 to break the pall of silence that ensued. 
 
 "It's awful cute," he said. 
 
 That was true; it was just about the size 
 of Damon's first effort. 
 
 "Reminds me of a doll's house," said an- 
 other man. 
 
 "Not only is it what you call cunning, but 
 it is remarkable for its lack of information," 
 said a man on the table. "For instance, 
 where are the deaths and marriages?" 
 
 "We don't believe in encouraging either 
 deaths or marriages," I replied 
 
 [471
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 Every one laughed and the conversation 
 became general. While I talked of New York 
 every one was quiet, but on local issues they 
 all expressed long opinions. Somehow, con- 
 versation came back to the Dispatch, and 
 Day said: 
 
 " Really, Mr. Howard, your paper is pretty 
 punk. There's nothing to it. If you cannot 
 give us a large sheet, the thing won't go here." 
 
 This sentiment seemed to be the sentiment 
 of the crowd, excepting one man. He was 
 tall and bony, about thirty-five, with sharp 
 features. He was smoking a big, black cigar 
 which he held savagely between his teeth. 
 He spoke up in a strong, resonant voice that 
 drowned out all the others. 
 
 "Shut up, the whole crowd of you. You 
 
 don't know nothing nohow. What difference 
 
 does it make how it starts as long as it starts. 
 
 You all condemn the News and hope for an- 
 
 [48]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 other paper. It's here. Now for Heaven's 
 sake nourish it; don't strangle it. Mighty 
 glad to know you, Mr. Howard," looking me 
 up and down. " There ain't much to you, but 
 you've got a sharp way that I like. Come on, 
 let's get away from the Knocker's Club," 
 and he half pulled me out of the room. When 
 we were on the street he blurted out, "Those 
 fellows are my friends, but they are always 
 looking for trouble, so be mighty careful what 
 you say in their presence, for any one of them 
 would sell you out for ten dollars except 
 Ed." 
 
 "Which was Ed," I asked. 
 
 "He wasn't there," he replied. 
 
 "And what is your name, Mr. ?" I 
 
 asked. 
 
 "No Mister to it; just Bill, that's all," he 
 added, turning to go 
 
 I held out my hand. He looked at it, then 
 [49]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 pulled out a cigar, put it in my outstretched 
 hand, turned and started up the street. I 
 stood a moment watching him as he strode 
 along and noticed that every one seemed to 
 be acquainted with him. A big policeman 
 stood near me. I stepped up to him and 
 said, pointing to my ungainly friend: 
 
 "Who's Bill?" 
 
 "Bill? Oh, he is the junior partner of the 
 big dry goods store over there." 
 
 So I met Bill Sanborn, the young dry goods 
 man. Later I was to meet Ed Allen his 
 friend. 
 
 At that point a thin, gray-haired man of 
 about forty-five, who stood next to the police- 
 man smoking a tattered cigarette, broke in 
 with the remark, 
 
 "Bill is one of the few live ones that are 
 left in Salem." 
 
 "Thank you," I said. 
 1*0]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 "Don't mention it, Mr. Editor," he replied. 
 
 "Know me already?" I asked in astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 "Bought your paper at six-thirty; saw you 
 at seven-fifteen on the Square; connected the 
 two." He took another puff of his cigarette. 
 "Old Sour Grapes almost ran over the Pin- 
 heads this morning in his automobile, and the 
 Lemonade Boys are running around like chicks 
 with their heads off." 
 
 "Who," I asked, laughing, "is Old Sour 
 Grapes and the Pinheads and the Lem- 
 onade Boys? " 
 
 "Old Sour Grapes is Damon; Pinheads are 
 those politicians who infest the Square; and 
 the Lemonade Boys are the reporters of the 
 News. They are all a sour lot." 
 
 I burst out laughing. 
 
 "You seem to have sized them up," I 
 exclaimed.
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 "Oh, the ' Missus' and I have them all 
 canned," replied Ben Reed, my new friend, 
 taking another puff and moving away. 
 
 I waited around until noon and then I 
 called at the newsdealer's and asked for re- 
 ports. The proprietor told me that he settled 
 at the end of the month. I took the next 
 train for Boston. 
 
 I started the Dispatch on Saturday, Octo- 
 ber twenty -fourth. We came through the 
 next week the best we could, both of us work- 
 ing all night long. In the morning I carried 
 the edition to Salem. Saturday night Lee 
 presented me his bill for thirty dollars. I 
 gave him what I had fifteen dollars. 
 
 "That's all I've got," I said, "I'm dead 
 broke." 
 
 Lee said nothing at the time; he was not a 
 quick moving body. But that night, when 
 we were at supper, apropos of nothing he
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 remarked suddenly in a sad voice: "Dead 
 broke!" 
 
 Several times he muttered the phrase. 
 
 "That ends it," he said; "I'm down and 
 out. I counted on you. I thought you had 
 money." 
 
 "What?" I said, returning his excitement. 
 "Haven't you got anything either?" 
 
 "Not a cent," said Lee. "They were just 
 going to foreclose on me when you started up 
 your newspaper; I counted on you." 
 
 "What will you do?" I said finally. 
 
 "I don't know," said Lee mournfully. 
 
 He was a phlegmatic individual, who lay 
 down peacefully when he got in trouble. 
 
 "It isn't new," he continued. "I always 
 get just about into this condition. This will 
 be the fourth time. Yep," he mused, " the 
 fourth time. Once in Chicago, once in Los 
 Angeles, and once in Savannah." 
 
 [53]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 "You choose extreme distances," I sug- 
 gested. 
 
 "Got to," said Lee in tones of resignation. 
 "It's safer. You see, the plan is this: I 
 work at the case till I save up about one 
 hundred dollars, and then I put it down as 
 first payment for machinery and start for 
 myself." 
 
 "Who is your creditor?" I asked him. 
 
 Lee named a type-founders company, 
 adding dully: "They always have been. 
 You see," he explained, "they don't know it. 
 Their business is so large that all you need to 
 do is to open an account with them in an- 
 other city; they never know the difference." 
 
 We got up. 
 
 "Well, I suppose you'll give it up and go 
 back to your people," I said. 
 
 "Haven't any," said Lee. "I've got to 
 hang on here as long as I can."
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 So Lee, peripatetic job printer, and How- 
 ard, bankrupt jeweller and speculator, got 
 together in their new enterprise, and fought 
 desperately to keep it afloat. 
 
 The job printer was a star; Lee was as 
 automatic a typesetter as a linotype; he could 
 go to sleep setting type. The editor was 
 another matter. I filled up the paper first 
 with merry jests on the weather and a few old 
 poems I carried in my mind; I gave them a 
 little Wall Street news, and for filling I used 
 time-tables and a few columns of advertising 
 that I got permission to run free. 
 
 As might have been expected, both Lee and 
 I got behind at the Hermitage and we were 
 considerably bothered by the landlord. It 
 was not long before we had a call from Mr. 
 Peabody, who was the attorney for the Her- 
 mitage. He proved to be very kind-hearted 
 and was considerably interested in the Dis-
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 patchy offering to aid me in writing the editor- 
 ials, an assistance I was very glad to have. 
 We began on general topics, handling any- 
 thing from tariff to suicide. But soon I 
 worked inevitably into local topics. 
 
 After we had been going a short time, I 
 noticed that my esteemed contemporary, the 
 News, instead of picking up and criticising 
 local affairs, had an interesting habit of 
 wandering outside of the city from time to 
 time, and ferociously assaulting some distant 
 interest. The Standard Oil Company was a 
 favourite mark; every now and then the News 
 would start up out of a sound sleep and tear 
 the Standard Oil monopoly to pieces 
 
 Now, I had known the Standard Oil people 
 very well. I had been in school with two of 
 the younger Rockefellers, and it was my 
 opinion that they were as good people as the 
 editor of the News. I thought these articles
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 were a cheap and unfair method of pretend- 
 ing virtue, and that, so far as monopoly went, 
 the methods of the News in Salem were far 
 worse than those of the Standard Oil in the 
 United States. 
 
 Mr. Peabody and I framed up an editorial 
 to this effect, and we ran it. 
 
 This particular issue of the Dispatch took 
 our last two dollars. I didn't have carfare 
 to take the papers to Salem and sell them . 
 
 That morning Mr. Peabody dropped into 
 the office. "Have you mailed a copy to the 
 Standard Oil Company?" he asked. 
 
 That suggested an idea to me, and I went 
 over to the office of the Standard Oil Com- 
 pany on Congress Street. I sent in my old 
 New York card with "New York Yacht Club" 
 on it, and the manager sent for me to come in 
 immediately. I handed him a copy of the 
 Dispatch, which he read through carefully. 
 
 [57]
 
 THE MAN WjHO BUCKED UP 
 
 "How many do you want?" I asked him. 
 
 "Two thousand," said he. 
 
 I gasped. Our edition was two hundred 
 and we had not a sheet of paper more. 
 
 When I finally explained this, the manager 
 said all right, he would pay in advance. And 
 there was twenty dollars in real money. Life 
 was revived again. It was certainly a close 
 call for us the first of many. 
 
 I don't care to recall that next month. It 
 was a very cold November that year; and at 
 the beginning of it Lee and I were obliged to 
 leave the rooming house and go down to his 
 printing-office in Cornhill, where there wasn't 
 any rent to pay, or at least there wasn't any 
 rent paid. 
 
 It was a dreadful month. I went to Salem 
 every day and got together as many pennies 
 as I could, and brought them back in the even- 
 ing. We had to lay out twenty -five cents a 
 [58]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 day for paper two hundred sheets, which 
 was our edition. I went out and bought the 
 quarter's worth of paper and brought it back 
 under my arm. 
 
 Then there was carfare to Salem. What 
 we had left we had for ourselves. Many a 
 night I had only twenty cents left over for 
 our food, and sometimes Lee had nothing to 
 eat at all until I brought back my small 
 change from Salem. 
 
 That month tested to the utmost Lee's 
 system on how to live on nothing in particular. 
 
 We had beans when we could afford them. 
 Oftener we had squash pie. But we chiefly 
 relied upon popcorn balls for agreeably and 
 thoroughly distending our stomachs for the 
 nominal sum of a penny. I don't know that 
 I was greatly harmed. I had been very fond 
 of the piquant and elaborate sauces of the 
 Fifth Avenue restaurants; but the plain food, I 
 
 [59]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 really believe, was better for me than what I 
 had been accustomed to. It certainly would 
 have been if I had had enough of it. But I 
 hadn't. What we took in from the Dispatch 
 would not feed us, even with squash pie and 
 popcorn balls. 
 
 The day soon came when we found our- 
 selves absolutely out of food. Lee went out, 
 and when he came back he had five dollars 
 and no overcoat. 
 
 "You take it," he said, "and go home to 
 your people." Good old Lee, he was a gener- 
 ous-hearted chap. Of course I refused, and 
 we ate a good meal and started over again. 
 
 We slept on a pile of newspapers on the 
 floor. In the morning we got up and stole 
 over to the Quincy House, in the next street, 
 to wash ourselves. We warmed our place by 
 a little stove, with coke, of which we bought 
 ten cents' worth at a time. It often got cold 
 
 [60]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 in the night, because the stuff burnt out if we 
 didn't wake up every now and then and 
 throw more of it in the stove. 
 
 One night Lee became very ill; about two 
 o'clock he had a very bad chill. It was bit- 
 ter cold. I got up and walked over a mile 
 to a public hospital, and begged some quinine. 
 When I got back I had a chill of my own. 
 But the quinine saved us both. 
 
 Every day, though, without a slip, we got 
 out the Dispatch. It was late, often; it ran 
 from a morning to an afternoon newspaper. 
 But it came out, and it was sold. I myself 
 was the newsboy To the onlooker the sit- 
 uation had its elements of fresh and joyous 
 humour. I had glimpses of it myself at the 
 time. 
 
 The town newsdealer had sold the Dis- 
 patch for the first week, and, according to his 
 statement, that he settled at the end of each 
 
 [61]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 month, he was due to pay me then. But when 
 I arrived to get my money, he said there was 
 practically nothing coming to me. Later he 
 said that the paper was smaller than the others 
 and got lost easily, and that he sold too few to 
 make it worth while; besides, he didn't care 
 especially to get in wrong with the News. So 
 after that I let him have only a few copies, 
 and I went out and sold the Dispatch myself. 
 There were a number of subscribers now. 
 I had made my headquarters in Day's tailor 
 shop; and every now and then one of the 
 callers there gave me a quarter, subscribing to 
 my paper for a month. It got about seventy- 
 five subscribers that way, but I had to walk 
 six miles a day to deliver them all, as they 
 lived in every part of the city. Then every 
 day I went out and peddled papers myself on 
 Old Town House Square. In this way I sold 
 about twenty-five newspapers. 
 
 [62]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 I still had left a frock coat and a high hat, 
 principally because I couldn't get anything 
 for them. As the weather got colder I rein- 
 forced my thin frock coat with copies of the 
 Dispatch beneath my vest. On my feet I had 
 thin low shoes. I was not over-warm. 
 
 A few weeks before, I was dodging and turn- 
 ing down side streets whenever I saw any- 
 body I knew. Now I stood on the Public 
 Square and sold my wares without a quiver. 
 
 It was worth while doing, if for nothing 
 else than for its glimpse of Town House Square 
 and the politicians. Salem is cut in two by 
 the railroad, and there is practically no way of 
 getting from one side to the other without pass- 
 ing through Town House Square, which leads 
 over the short tunnel of the railroad through 
 the centre of the city. 
 
 The population of the city passes and re- 
 passes the spot. Around the tiny square, the 
 
 [63]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 cheap curbstone politicians, who for the past 
 twenty years had controlled the town, met 
 every day in a kind of sidewalk caucus, heard 
 the news, and settled the destinies of the city. 
 
 The prominent feature on the corner was 
 the leader of the aldermen, a man named 
 Doyle one of those big, silent, " mysterious 
 Mike" kind of Irishmen who say nothing, but 
 listen and utter monosyllables. His business 
 was that of ticket-taker at a theatre. He 
 raised a large family, and made considerable 
 investments in real estate and even corpora- 
 tion stocks. 
 
 Another constant attendant was an ex- 
 mayor, "Col." Peterson, a roaring, rough-and- 
 ready politician with a warlike moustache a 
 loud talker and a lumpy dresser, with a hearty 
 independent habit of profanity. 
 
 With them, often, were the McSweeney 
 boys, minor city officials and politicians, 
 
 [64]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 famous locally for having a foot in all political 
 camps. 
 
 The political editor of the News, one of 
 those April dressers with dark brown hat, a 
 light brown overcoat, steel gray trousers, and 
 lavender socks, stood with them. 
 
 It was a curious sight to see the men who 
 were really operating the affairs of the city 
 gathering every day upon old Town House 
 Square. It was the sadness of the thing that 
 struck me, the solemnity with which they did 
 their duty. Every afternoon they met to- 
 gether, talked over the affairs of the city, and 
 spat sadly into the gutter. 
 
 I knew nothing about politics. I had paid 
 absolutely no attention to it all my life. But 
 I could. scarcely run a local newspaper and not 
 be drawn into it. 
 
 [65]
 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 rTT^HE manager of a theatre sent me two 
 tickets for every performance. After 
 attending several performances I be- 
 came convinced that the Salem people were 
 being deceived. The News received from this 
 theatre fifteen hundred dollars a year for ad- 
 vertising, and evidently a technical agreement 
 existed between them to praise every play that 
 came there. I saw a performance of " The 
 Merry Widow" advertised and written up as 
 being identical in cast and scenery as the New 
 York production. The only likeness between 
 the two was the price of seats two* dollars 
 in each instance. The principals were inferior 
 and the chorus cut in half. I did not feel that 
 I should indulge in too rabid criticism, but it 
 
 [66]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 did seem to me that a humorous criticism of a 
 minor company, which had been loudly her- 
 alded by the News, might prove a popular 
 move and perhaps either make the News stop 
 misleading the public or help induce the man- 
 ager to give better shows. 
 
 Some of my readers will understand, I think, 
 when I say that this flippancy of style my 
 undignified sense of humor had been in 
 nearly every crisis of my life my one defence 
 against the flings of outrageous fortune and 
 the nearly tragic consequences of my own folly. 
 It was what finally won me the support of the 
 people. Even the most serious men can be 
 reached by ridicule. There was a peculiar sad- 
 ness among the so-called big men in Salem, 
 which was reflected in the pages of the News. 
 No one, apparently, had ridiculed anything 
 until I came. It was time, I thought, for 
 some one to commence. 
 
 [67]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 One night after witnessing a performance en- 
 titled " The Cowboy's Romance," I returned 
 to the Dispatch office to write a criticism of 
 the play. It was the beginning of our dra- 
 matic column, and the first occasion when we 
 treated a serious matter flippantly. 
 
 SATURDAY NIGHT 
 
 "THE COWBOY'S ROMANCE" AT THE LOCAL 
 
 THEATRE 
 
 Up to Saturday night we did not quite know what to 
 be thankful for on Thanksgiving, because ours has not 
 been a bed of roses this last year, but now we can truly 
 say we are grateful and would give thanks because we 
 have seen this company. 
 
 It is hard to understand why a company like this 
 comes to Salem. They should be playing on Broad- 
 way alongside of Belasco's, John Drew, and Sothern. 
 However, that is their business, not ours. 
 
 Saturday's attraction was " The Cowboy's Romance," 
 and when we arrived, a beautiful maiden dressed like 
 Hiawatha was telling the hero that henceforth she 
 would be good. It seems that Helen Brockway (who 
 wore a Mother Hubbard dress of eight-cents-a-yard 
 
 [68]
 
 \ 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 calico) had a father who promised Brigham Young's 
 eighty-second wife that he would make her the wife of 
 some one, somewhere, at some time, all of which was 
 very careless of him. Whereupon, Hiawatha com- 
 menced to play with matches in the window. A pistol 
 went off and a man dressed like Santa Claus was killed. 
 
 Everybody told lies in the second act and there was 
 a beautiful scene where Helen Brockway and her 
 father wept in each other's arms; never mind why. 
 They just wept perhaps because they both realized 
 what bad actors they really were. 
 
 The third act was a court scene, and shades of Neal 
 Dow and Father Mathew! what do you think? The 
 judge was "pye-eyed," and at one time he adjourned 
 court to get another drink. The hero called the villain a 
 "naughty boy" twice, Hiawatha refused "tainted 
 money, "and Helen still wore her eight-cent calico and 
 was a perfect lady. Pistols were shot off, some one 
 said "damn," and His Honor was "drunk as a lord." 
 
 WTien the curtain fell we turned to our neighbour and 
 said, "Clarence, would'st thou be a judge?" "Lead 
 on, oh, Brutus ! " he replied; and we went to a convenient 
 drug store, showed a clerk a prescription our doctor 
 gave us for a "thirst," which he had already made up. 
 Some one said," Here's luck "; we said, "Drink hearty"; 
 and something was said about "another." 
 
 [69]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 In the last act the hero and the villain played a cute 
 game with knives, called "You're a Thanksgiving 
 turkey, or, I will cut your wishbone," which was very 
 exciting. No one was hurt, however, until a man 
 looking like Lydia E. Pinkham's long-lost brother, and 
 president of the fat men's club, shot the villain. The 
 heroine arrived in the same dress, gracefully carrying 
 a transfer ticket to Scollay Square. 
 
 And we went home to tell mother all about it. 
 
 The manager of the theatre came to see me. 
 He was very indignant. I explained to him 
 that presenting such plays, fit only for the 
 Bowery, and advertising them as Metropoli- 
 tan successes, would hurt his theatre in the 
 long run and that the number of empty seats 
 nightly was a proof of my deductions. I also 
 called his attention to the fact that none of 
 the actors had been called by name and that 
 it was all written in good humour, but he would 
 not listen; declared he was offended and told 
 me that my free seats would be stopped. 
 
 [70]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 We had been publishing just a month when 
 Day sent for me to come into his office and 
 introduced me to "Link" Allen, one of the 
 aldermen, a long-legged man, the sonorous 
 grandeur of whose profanity was unequalled 
 in my experience. He explained to me in a 
 passionate ecstasy of language that the News 
 had criticised severely a "junket" taken by a 
 city government committee of which he was 
 chairman. It was the first criticism of the 
 kind of a city committee, and was put in, he 
 said, by a city official who was a stockholder 
 in the News, who wasn't invited on the trip. 
 
 The alderman brought out the fact, which I 
 already understood to some extent, that the 
 stock of the News was held by men high in the 
 political and business management of the city. 
 
 "The rest of the people don't have any 
 show," said Allen. "They'll print what they 
 want to." 
 
 (71]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 Day confirmed this; he had told me of it, 
 the first day I went into his office, as the 
 reason why a newspaper would be welcome. 
 
 So I printed "Link" Allen's letter claiming 
 that the cost of his committee's trip had not 
 been excessive in fact, had been less than a 
 recent trip of the Water Board, headed by 
 Alderman Doyle. With this letter I printed 
 my own comment, which ended: 
 
 If anything is to be said, let us have it all. The 
 Dispatch may be relied upon for a square deal all round. 
 
 The object of this newspaper is to give the whole 
 news, not part of it, and also to see that all have fair play. 
 
 That letter and editorial gave me the first 
 real instruction about what the public wanted. 
 I knew nothing about a newspaper, naturally; 
 I had spent my life in the jewellery business. 
 I didn't have much local news; we hadn't 
 anybody to gather it. I had been publishing 
 editorials on President Eliot's retirement, the
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 Baconian theory of Shakespeare, and similar 
 topics. 
 
 The next day the melancholy congregation 
 of politicians on Town House Square was 
 thoroughly stirred. Alderman Doyle marched 
 down in portentous silence, disappeared into 
 the News office, and held a long and gesticu- 
 latory interview with its proprietor. When 
 the News came out at eleven o'clock, it bore 
 the cryptic message: 
 
 Some people are saying that the Water Board's 
 trip cost eighty-four dollars. But such is not the case. 
 
 One thing was very clear: the News was not 
 going in any way to recognize our existence. 
 This made its defence of Alderman Doyle 
 very awkward. It seemed to me that, under 
 the circumstances, it would be a good idea to 
 take a shot at the News. So, applying the 
 idea of its own Standard Oil editorials to the 
 
 [73]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 local situation, I opened up my series of 
 "Octopus Stories." The first one ran like 
 this: 
 
 A SIMPLE TALE 
 
 The head of "The Newspaper" sat in his office. 
 His fine, intellectual face was rapt in thought, when 
 suddenly there entered one of the staff. 
 
 "Sire," said he, bowing low, "methinks the people 
 are on to us." 
 
 "How?" said the chief nervously. 
 
 " Peradventure, my lord," continued the scribe, 
 "they say this is not a newspaper, but a spite paper 
 that we suppress part of the news to spite others." 
 The great man raised his head and spoke thus: 
 
 "If you can sting Link, why, go right ahead; 
 But suppress news of Doyle," the great man said. 
 
 A pause. 
 
 The advertising agent, accompanied by the editorial 
 writer, entered. 
 
 "Most learned one," said the former, "I would 
 advise thee that the advertisers are waking up." 
 
 Trembling with dread, the "Octopus" roared: 
 [74]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 "Quick! Write an editorial damning the Standard 
 Oil. Call them brigands. It always takes, and will 
 divert the advertisers from resenting the twenty-five 
 per cent, advance, and the readers from seeing that w 
 do not publish all the news." 
 
 Saying which, he called one of his three automobiles, 
 and was whirled away to his palatial home, where he 
 composed a finely worded editorial for the next issue. 
 
 There was little doubt that tlie editor of 
 the News was excited over my "Octopus 
 Stories." He called in his attorneys and 
 threatened trouble. 
 
 In the meantime Lee and I were having our 
 troubles. One especially cold night in Novem- 
 ber, when we were sitting dejectedly around 
 our stove, the door opened and Mr. Peabody 
 stepped in. He gave one glance around the 
 room and then came over to me and laid his 
 hand on my shoulder, saying abruptly, 
 
 "I want you to come with me." 
 
 I immediately arose, put on " our " overcoat 
 [75]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 that Lee had just returned, and went with 
 Mr. Peabody to his rooms. We walked along 
 in silence, each buffeting the storm as best he 
 could, for this was no night for conversation. 
 Presently I found myself in his suite of rooms. 
 He took my hat and overcoat somewhere and 
 in a moment returned and led me into a cham- 
 ber and said kindly, "Go to bed." I was 
 dumfounded, but obeyed. Half an hour 
 later he brought me a delicious omelette and a 
 cup of steaming coffee. "I am quite a cook," 
 he remarked. I thought so too, and it seemed 
 to me that I had never tasted anything in my 
 life quite so delicious. He sat down in a huge 
 Morris chair in the room and chatted with me 
 in a casual, impersonal way. Perhaps I 
 ought to have said that I was eating my meal 
 in bed. When I had finished this repast I 
 slipped down beneath the sheets. What 
 with the warmth of the room, the comfortable 
 
 [76]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 softness of the bed and my square meal, 
 I was not long in going to sleep, leaving Mr. 
 Peabody sitting there smoking a cigar. The 
 next morning he asked me if he could write 
 to any of my relatives or friends. "No," 
 I replied, "I have none now. I've made my 
 own bed and must lie on it. Thank you very 
 much for your kindness. Good-bye." 
 
 When I was halfway downstairs he joined 
 me. 
 
 "I shall expect you back to-night, and every 
 night until you get a home," he said. An- 
 other example of New England and its people. 
 I lived with him two comfortable weeks. I 
 enjoyed his books and our talks. He liter- 
 ally gave me a new lease of life. Perhaps, best 
 of all, he restored my self-respect. 
 
 [771
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 WE struggled along the next few weeks 
 the best we could. I continued my 
 attacks on the local political ring and 
 the News. The more I looked into the polit- 
 ical management of the place, the worse it 
 looked to me. And as I brought out one thing 
 after another, there was interest and friendly 
 comment. But our circulation did not go 
 up appreciably. We had just about a hun- 
 dred, and nobody would advertise with us. 
 We had little enough to give them, and all 
 the big advertisers were hitched up with the 
 News some of them as stockholders. The 
 rest of the town was scared to death of it. 
 
 Lee and I grew poorer and poorer. Finally 
 the type company gave notice that it would 
 IttJ
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 take its plant away at eight o'clock the next 
 morning. Lee and I worked all night and 
 printed six editions of the paper ahead. The 
 only difference in them was the date-lines. 
 The next day the old printing-shop at Corn- 
 hill was cleared out. The mice left at the 
 same time. 
 
 We had six days' leeway. All that week I 
 went about nearby cities, trying to get some 
 one to sell me a printing equipment. I found 
 a hand-press and some type in a second-hand 
 shop in Boston, which the owner would sell for 
 one hundred and seventy-five dollars, but he 
 wanted seventy-five dollars cash. 
 
 The sales of the paper meanwhile dropped 
 down to eleven copies a day. We only lasted 
 the week out by again calling on the Boston 
 manager of the Standard Oil Company and 
 collecting three dollars as an annual sub- 
 scription. 
 
 [79]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 The end of the three dollars approached. I 
 had got the second-hand-press man to reduce 
 his cash deposit to twenty-five dollars. But 
 twenty-five dollars was as far off, practically, 
 as seventy-five dollars. So I went dejectedly 
 over to our old office in Cornhill to take Lee 
 out and give him a plate of beans. Lee was 
 cleaning up some papers in a corner. 
 
 "Hello," he said, all at once; "here is 
 that motor I bought of the Electric Com- 
 pany." 
 
 That saved us. The motor, Lee said, had 
 cost fifty dollars. I ran downstairs, got a 
 truck and dragged the machine around to the 
 second-hand shop. The owner took it, agree- 
 ing to give us the plant, and the next day it 
 was shipped down to Salem. 
 
 I had thought of renting the " House of the 
 Seven Gables." It was closed and running to 
 decay, and I could have rented it for fifteen 
 
 [80]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 dollars a month. It would have been an 
 excellent advertisement to say I published my 
 paper there. But just before I arrived a 
 patriotic Salem woman bought it, with the 
 purpose of preserving it as a memorial. 
 
 So I went to "Link" Allen for advice. He 
 showed me an old paint shop across the road 
 from his coal office, which I hired for two dol- 
 lars a week. He also lent me a desk and chair, 
 and sent me a hundred pounds of coal. A 
 second-hand dealer, who was a member of 
 Allen's aldermanic committee, whose "jun- 
 ket" Allen had defended in my paper, came in, 
 and gave me an old stove for a month's ad- 
 vertising. Lee moved into a room over the 
 shop, and I went to live at a boarding-house. 
 
 I had grown very fond of the old city, partly 
 because I found its people very friendly, 
 partly from sentimental reasons. My great- 
 great-grandfather, I found, had been quite a 
 
 [811
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 man there. He had founded an insurance 
 company, the savings bank, and a mechanics' 
 benefit organization; had laid out the common, 
 and had had a street named after him. One 
 of the bells in old St. Peter's tower was a me- 
 morial to him. So I went to the church, and 
 asked which had been my great-great-grand- 
 father's pew. I was shown to a large, stall- 
 like pew on the side, which, they said, had 
 been unoccupied for years. I immediately 
 appropriated it, and sat there ever afterward. 
 
 It was not long after that that the minister 
 of St. Peter's looked me up at my office, and 
 had a long talk with me about my paper. Up 
 to that time I had been attacking the methods 
 of the political gang in charge of the city gov- 
 ernment; but I had no particular policy or 
 purpose in it, unless it was to keep myself busy. 
 
 Doctor Bedinger assumed that I was doing 
 it all as a public duty and praised my work as 
 
 [82]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 a public service. My constant hammering 
 of the politicians, he said, could not fail to 
 benefit Salem. 
 
 This gave a feeling of satisfaction which I 
 had not before experienced. 
 
 But we were certainly about at the end; and 
 we could not seem to gain. We were, in fact, 
 running steadily behind. One day I went up 
 to Boston to see if I couldn't find a new field. 
 I made up my mind that I was through with 
 Salem. 
 
 I had an autograph letter of Lincoln's 
 which I had carried in my pocket for years. 
 I took this and sold it to a dealer. Then I 
 took my studs and links and collar-buttons 
 and sold them for old gold. Altogether I 
 raised eight dollars in this way. I wrote a 
 letter to Lee, telling him I had quit the game, 
 and in it I put three dollars of the eight, to 
 give him carfare to his old home in Vermont. 
 
 [83]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 I stood on Washington Street a minute, 
 with the letter in my hand, before mailing it; 
 and, as I stood there, a very nice-looking 
 elderly man with a white beard came up to 
 me and said: 
 
 "Isn't this Mr. Howard?" 
 
 "Yes," I said. 
 
 "Well," said the man, "I am an old resi- 
 dent of Salem, and I want to tell you that 
 I have read your paper with interest. I 
 think you are doing a great public good, and I 
 hope you keep up your fight. Salem is sick 
 of those old political gangs. What we need 
 at the head of the city government is a man 
 like yourself. I hope the time will come when 
 I shall have the pleasure of casting my vote 
 for you as mayor." 
 
 He shook my hand, patted me on the back, 
 and walked down the street. 
 
 It took me just fifteen minutes to walk to 
 [84]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 the railroad station and start back to Salem. 
 Insane as it might seem, I had conceived the 
 ambition to be mayor of Salem. 
 
 I went direct to my boarding-house and 
 went to bed. 
 
 [85]
 
 CHAPTER VH 
 
 THE boarding-house keepers in New 
 England are always called "Ma," so 
 my landlady told me after telling me 
 her real name. I told her that I would al- 
 ways speak most respectfully to her, but she 
 stuck to it that in a short time it would be 
 "Ma," and she was right. 
 
 Evidently, I was put down as a swell 
 (though by this time my one suit was dis- 
 tinctly shabby), for I was given the best room 
 in the house, and a piece of steak for supper, 
 while the others ate cold meat and glared at 
 me. 
 
 "Ma" had a full house and all of them had 
 nicknames. There was a young contractor 
 and his wife, with a child. Mr. Contractor, or 
 
 [86]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 Clarence, as he was called, was very quiet, 
 and from the outset conceived a great friend- 
 ship for me. He never smiled, but was at 
 times very witty. For instance, when he 
 had finished his cold meat, he said to the land- 
 lady's daughter, " Tell your mother I want my 
 supper," which brought down the house. I 
 may as well say at the outset that " Ma" was 
 busted. And yet she was a rather clever finan- 
 cier. For instance, she arranged her board- 
 er's rent days so that there was something 
 due each day. It was as well. Many a time 
 at 5 P. M. there was an aching void in the 
 larder. Let me change that a little, for we 
 always had a supply of beans. Connecticut 
 boasts that every inch of its ground has rocks 
 or stones, Massachusetts could well boast 
 that every house has beans. 
 
 " Ma's" family consisted of " Pa," a son who 
 was ia the candy Business somewhere, aw4 a 
 
 187]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 daughter, aged fourteen. "Ma" was the 
 whole show she cooked, made beds, swept, 
 shopped, played the piano, gossiped and ran 
 not only her own family but the boarders as 
 well. It was " Pa's" duty to get up and make 
 the fire at 5 A. M. He never failed to do it, 
 and also never failed to take a good long drink 
 out of the milk can. He was daily accused of 
 that crime and daily denied it. "Pa" also 
 was detailed to keep the furnace going. It 
 was an easy job, for we seldom had fuel 
 that is, we seldom had coal ; but sometimes we 
 had a supply of wood, gratuitously contrib- 
 uted by Clarence, the contractor, in sheer 
 self-defence. The heating scheme was cer- 
 tainly original. "Ma" ordered "Pa" down 
 to make a fire in order, she said, to take the 
 chill off the house. After the fire had been 
 going an hour, "Ma" would say to "Pa," 
 "You'd better let the fire go out." 
 [88]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 "Don't worry," "Pa" would reply, "there 
 ain't no more wood and it's going out by 
 itself." 
 
 Many a night we all gathered in the parlour 
 and had an open fire, " Ma" banging the piano, 
 "Pa" bringing up wood, and everybody dread- 
 ing to go to his room because of the cold. But 
 what tales we told each other ! Through what 
 gigantic misfortunes had we not passed ! Not 
 only were we all formerly very rich, but our 
 fortunes had all been lost innocently, through 
 the manipulation of others. 
 
 There was one rich man, though rich 
 for Salem. Probably he had twenty or thirty 
 thousand dollars. He was an immaculate 
 man, with fixed habits, which never swerved. 
 One of these was his periodical "drunk" 
 regularly on every last day of the month. He 
 was as immaculate drunk as sober; and it has 
 been a comfort to me in many dark days to 
 
 [89]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 remember the early mornings when I woke and 
 looked out my chamber door to behold him 
 parading up and down the hall, attired in 
 pajamas, a carefully adjusted necktie, and a 
 silk hat studiously removing his hat every 
 time he passed the gas jet in the centre, and 
 exclaiming with elaborate courtesy, "Good 
 evening, madam." 
 
 Son John was in the candy business out of 
 town somewhere and he used to write the 
 most glowing letters home to "Ma," telling 
 her the wonderful success he was going to 
 make, ending by asking for a loan of $3 or 
 $5, which, by the way, he always got. It 
 came from another boarder or was taken out of 
 our food. One thing I am certain of, it never 
 came from me, for at the end of the second 
 week I was behind in my board. But my land- 
 lady was crazy about the theatre, and all I had 
 to do was to pass her my tickets, now restored 
 
 [90]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 to me by the manager, and she would let me 
 go without paying. Meantime, the rest of 
 the boarders were finding a great deal of fault, 
 and when they did, "Ma" would always call 
 attention to the fact that she was glad that 
 there was one gentleman in the house, point- 
 ing to me as a good example for them to fol- 
 low. As I was not paying any money, I could 
 not see how I could put up much of a kick. 
 Every Saturday night we used to have a 
 party, for which each of the boarders chipped 
 in thirty-five cents. It began with playing 
 cards, usually hearts, four being seated at the 
 table. There were no prizes, but after we 
 had played for about half an hour some one 
 would go down to the nearest store and get 
 some cheese, candy and rich cakes, and we 
 would have a chafing dish party and gorge 
 ourselves. The weekly treat was looked for- 
 ward to by all of us and nobody seemed to 
 
 [91]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 know what it meant to temper his appetite 
 with judgment. The cards would be for- 
 gotten, we would eat until every plate was 
 clean and we were completely stuffed. 
 
 I think the mornings were the funniest. I 
 used to get up about eleven o'clock and go 
 down to the dining-room. "Pa" would come 
 in and say: 
 
 "Good morning, Mr. Howard. What will 
 you have for breakfast?" 
 
 I would order a poached egg. Whereupon, 
 he would go into the kitchen and the walls being 
 very thin, I could hear him yell to "Ma": 
 
 "What the hell do you think? he has or- 
 dered eggs and coffee! I think that man has 
 got more nerve than any man I ever saw in 
 my life. We never see the colour of his money, 
 yet he orders stuff just as though he owned 
 the house. I will give him a talking to when 
 I take his breakfast in to him." 
 
 [92]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 Then a long conversation would ensue in 
 low tones and "Ma" would walk down the 
 hall, open the door, and call to "Pa" to come. 
 Then she would usually deliver the following 
 dramatic order, entirely as if it were final and 
 she meant it: 
 
 " I want you to depart out of this house for- 
 ever. Don't dare to come back again." 
 
 He would walk out of the door and she 
 would bang it and lock it. Then she would 
 bring in my breakfast, sit down and have a 
 little talk. Whenever he was fired out of the 
 house this way, which occurred about four 
 times a week, he would hang around until one 
 of the boarders came along with the key, and 
 then he would say: 
 
 "I have lost my key. Won't you let me 
 in?" 
 
 Whereupon we would let him go in, and he 
 would sneak up to his room in the garret, to 
 
 [93]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 reappear the next morning at five o'clock and 
 generously help himself to the milk or any- 
 thing that happened to be in the refrigerator. 
 It was drawing near Christmas. We were 
 dreadfully hard up at the Dispatch office. I 
 published the following article in our paper 
 with the idea of bringing in some money. 
 
 TO OUR SUBSCRIBERS 
 
 A PITEOUS APPEAL FOR CASH 
 
 The day after to-morrow is Christmas Day, and we 
 feel that it is a good time to make an appeal, and again 
 there is a yawning abyss that must be filled. 
 
 In their enthusiastic appreciation of our efforts, 
 many handsome sons of Adam and lovely daughters of 
 Eve subscribed to our paper, and each and every morn- 
 ing, beside their delicious coffee and appetizing eggs, 
 they have read our bright little comments on life and 
 events, and we have felt that somehow we were making 
 life brighter for them, but we are afraid that we have 
 lifted our readers to realms above the ordinary things 
 of life, because while they continue to digest our ob- 
 servations and appreciate our repartee, they forget 
 the small sums due for subscriptions.
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 All day we have flirted with the cash drawer, but, 
 sad to relate, it contains only a few pennies and some 
 stamps. Think, gentle reader, think of the high liter- 
 ary merit of this publication, and then remember 
 that it is all written on this daily bill of fare: 
 
 Breakfast Coffee. 
 
 Lunch Crackers and milk. 
 
 Supper Beans. 
 
 Seriously and honestly, we would like (just for a day) 
 to renew our acquaintance with a piece of roast beef, 
 or look, once more, a chicken in the face. 
 
 We are not ashamed of our shiny elbows, we do not 
 complain of the bitter cold, or remark on the hardness 
 of our couch; to those things we are accustomed. But 
 it is very hard work to write an editorial wishing every 
 one a Merry Christmas with only nine cents in one's 
 clothes. 
 
 So please sit down and write us a check, and on the 
 receipted bill we will tell you how much obliged we are. 
 But even if you fail us, we will love you just the same, 
 and try to eat our beans with a cheerful face and a 
 thankful heart. 
 
 The night before Christmas was the worst 
 I ever experienced in my life. Lee and I had 
 
 [05]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 eighty cents between us. My landlady had 
 told me that I must produce some money or 
 get out, so I threw a few things into my bag 
 and took up lodgings with Lee at the shop. 
 We bought sixty cents' worth of paper to 
 bring out the paper the day after Christmas, 
 and as a result we went to bed that night with- 
 out anything to eat, keeping the twenty cents 
 for Christmas, when we knew no money would 
 come in. Christmas morning at ten o'clock 
 Lee and I had beans for ten cents. At 5 
 p. M. we had them again. 
 
 From the time I was sixteen years old I had 
 eaten my lunch at Delmonico's in New York. 
 During those twenty-two years I cannot rec- 
 ollect ever having given the waiter less than 
 a quarter every time I was served, with a ten- 
 dollar bill at Christmas to the head waiter 
 who helped me spend my money. What 
 foolish, vain people we are in New York! 
 
 [96]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 How we recklessly spend, thinking that we 
 " must" eat always at a fashionable restaurant, 
 and how hard it is afterward to sit on a stool 
 in a chilly restaurant, with threadbare clothes, 
 and eat five cents' worth of beans for a Christ- 
 mas dinner! Poverty may not be a crime, 
 but when one has had every luxury for years 
 and then sinks to almost a beggar, how it 
 does cut to the heart! It isn't the cold, the 
 shiny clothes, or the food. It isn't any special 
 reason. It's the humiliation of it all. One 
 does not think of poverty; the words that 
 ring through the head are, "Fool! Fool! 
 Fool!" 
 
 The next day the tide turned a little. I 
 received a letter from my landlady, delivered 
 by "Pa," in which she told me to come back 
 to the house, that I was no trouble, and that 
 she would be glad to have me stay for five 
 years, provided I should be willing to occupy 
 
 [97]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 the smallest bedroom in the house. I was 
 told to come to dinner, and to come early. I 
 went and got there about ten minutes of 
 twelve. The table was all set with a great 
 quantity of food. I helped myself to some 
 bread and butter and cake and fruit, which I 
 put inside my coat and buttoned it up tight. 
 After I had eaten my own dinner, I went 
 down and gave what I had taken off the table 
 to Lee, who was half starved. That night 
 Link came in and commenced to swear at us 
 in his usual manner for four or five minutes, 
 after which he sat down, and said that his 
 wife had made a cake which had been a com- 
 plete failure. He wanted to get rid of it, so 
 had brought it down to us. Whereupon, he 
 opened a box filled with cake, fruit, cold 
 chicken, and candy, and two dozen cigars. 
 Lee and I ate for an hour, and smoked cigars 
 until four in the morning. Delmonico's most 
 
 [981
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 famous chef never produced a meal that was 
 more appreciated. 
 
 The next night " Ma" asked me if I would 
 care to buy five boxes of candy made by her 
 son. She said that all the boarders in the 
 house were taking some, and that if I would 
 put an advertisement in the Dispatch about it, 
 she would give me five boxes. I put the ad- 
 vertisement in and received the five boxes 
 of candy. The next night we had a Christ- 
 mas Tree at my boarding-house, and "Ma" 
 said that we should all give one another some 
 little souvenir of the occasion. I wrapped up 
 the candy and put it up on the Christmas Tree 
 for my fellow boarders. When the presents 
 were given out, I found that nearly every one 
 in the house had adopted my idea, and in con- 
 sequence I got three boxes of the same stuff 
 back from the other boarders. Two or three 
 nights later, when "Ma" was very hard up, 
 
 [99]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 a man came to the kitchen door selling some 
 pies. "Ma" took two pies of him, telling 
 him to come back for the money. She 
 brought them to the dining-room, put them on 
 the table, where each one was cut in four 
 pieces. Just after they had been served to us, 
 we heard a terrible row going on in the kitchen. 
 It was the pie man demanding his money or 
 the pies back. Most of the boarders caught 
 the gist of what was going on. Clarence then 
 exclaimed: 
 
 "This is our last chance if we want to eat 
 the pies." 
 
 I suggested that we gobble them as quickly 
 as we could. We had just got them down 
 when "Ma" came into the room and told us 
 that she would have to have them back. I do 
 not know how it ended, because I had an en- 
 gagement that took me right out of the house. 
 Most of the boarders seemed to have engage- 
 [100]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 ments at the same time, and we all fled down 
 the street, leaving "Ma" and the pie man 
 trying to figure out whether he would get the 
 twenty cents or the pies. A sordid existence? 
 Yes; and the sort of existence the majority of 
 us lead in these United States the sort of 
 existence when one may be honest, but not 
 always honourable in the strict sense under- 
 stood by the well-housed people. 
 
 [101]
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 AID now I sat down to think. What 
 was I going to do? What was the 
 policy of my paper? What was my 
 ultimate object? So far, every move had 
 been forced upon me. I had merely done the 
 best I could under the circumstances, had 
 merely tried to live or rather exist; but now I 
 felt that I must have some definite policy. 
 
 When one is poor and hard pressed, it 
 develops the powers of observation. Little 
 things that formerly escaped my eye now be- 
 came the most prominent. So far I had only 
 attacked the News and its owner and de- 
 fended " Link," but already I was a marked 
 man. The McSweeneys, Doyle and Colonel 
 Peterson would glare at me from the moment 
 11021
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 I came in view until I passed out of sight. 
 They had to glare at me. They had to hate 
 me. The News co*uld ruin any one of them in 
 two days' time. I had a newspaper to reply 
 with in case I was attacked; the McSweeneys, 
 Doyle and the Colonel had none. At first 
 I rather pitied their lack of courage; but I was 
 learning very fast. Constant observation, 
 constant inquiries, constant hunting through 
 city records, told me a more serious reason; 
 told me how these same men had all the city 
 plums and the News had praised them. I 
 uncovered deal after deal; liquor licenses only 
 given out to those that had a pull or paid for 
 them; street-paving contracts given to in- 
 siders; men employed in the water depart- 
 ment not for their ability but in order to make 
 votes for Doyle. A more complicated state of 
 affairs I had never heard of. It was ring within 
 ring within ring. It would take ten volumes to 
 [103]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UT 
 
 tell it all (a story in its main lines familiar 
 enough to students of our political history). 
 
 Sufficient to state that every one "had some- 
 thing" on every one else; therefore reform 
 could never come. Every political camp had 
 its own particular pull. The water and street 
 departments employed eight hundred men 
 and had the spending of $100,000 a year. 
 Doyle was absolute boss in both departments. 
 Peterson's firm always got the building con- 
 tracts. It made no difference who put in the 
 lowest bid. Sufficient to say "they got it." 
 The McSweeneys absolutely controlled the 
 liquor situation. Morgan, as a license com- 
 missioner, had the power to give out the 
 licenses, providing his brother Parker got the 
 insurance and his brother William got the 
 legal business. There was only one man 
 higher in liquordom than the McSweeneys, 
 and that was "Mike" Sullivan the famous 
 [104]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 lawyer. Sullivan was attorney for the News, 
 the railroads, some big brewers in Boston, and 
 all the corporations. He was said to controlf our- 
 teen out of thirty-seven of the licenses, and the 
 McSweeneys never disputed these privileges of 
 Mike's because, Sullivan represented too much 
 money. So after all, each group was a check on 
 the others. Doyle needed the McSweeneys' in- 
 fluence for votes, the Colonel needed Doyle's 
 and the McSweeneys' votes for contracts, and 
 they all needed Mike Sullivan legally. 
 
 George Day, the tailor, was right when he 
 said that the News backed them all up. One 
 had only to read back a few years to see how 
 the News explained the reasons for the actions 
 of all those men. Such items as these were 
 constantly appearing: 
 
 " Although Colonel Peterson's firm did not make the 
 lowest bid, it has been awarded them, as the committee 
 wanted the work to go to a local contractor." 
 
 [1051
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 "License Commissioner McSweeney is having much 
 credit given him for his fairness and good judgment in 
 allotting the licenses." 
 
 "Alderman Doyle insists that citizens of Salem only 
 shall be employed in the street and water depart- 
 ments. This act is warmly commended." 
 
 The News failed to state that Doyle em- 
 ployed citizens because he wanted votes, and 
 it also failed to say that the Colonel used 
 Italians, Poles, or any nationality, merely 
 trying to get the cheapest labour. It was a 
 magnificent system that this Ring ran. The 
 absence of another newspaper made it pos- 
 sible. 
 
 What impressed me most was these oc- 
 casional remarks heard on any street cor- 
 ner: 
 
 "The licenses are a good thing for the Mc- 
 Sweeneys." 
 
 "The building contracts have been a good 
 thing for the Colonel." 
 [106]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 "The Water Board has been a good thing 
 for Doyle." 
 
 No man was ever mentioned as having 
 been "a good thing for the city." I thought 
 I saw my opportunity. 
 
 [107]
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 TO an unprejudiced observer the chance 
 of realizing my ambition to become 
 the mayor of Salem would certainly 
 not have seemed great when I returned from 
 Boston cherishing it in January, 1909. The 
 main question was whether I could continue 
 to make a living there. 
 
 I had begun to see what kind of a news- 
 paper I must publish. It must treat the big 
 local issues, which my competitor, the News, 
 avoided. I heard many expressions of ap- 
 proval as I adopted this policy. For instance, 
 I had occasion to go into one of the big shoe 
 factories one day, and, as I walked through the 
 room where the men were working, I saw a copy 
 of the Dispatch lying on one of the benches, 
 [108]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 almost worn to shreds. One of the workmen 
 told me that they passed it around at lunch- 
 time, and over forty men saw it each day. 
 
 At the same time my circulation stood still 
 around one hundred, and I got practically no 
 advertising. So we had to hustle even to get 
 paper to print upon. 
 
 One Thursday night, I remember, we were 
 entirely out of paper. Our money was gone. 
 I tried to buy from the local printers. I went 
 into executive session with myself, and finally 
 produced an idea. So I started out for the 
 nearest grocery store, and asked the proprietor 
 if he would give me a few sheets of wrapping- 
 paper. He told me to help myself, and I took 
 two or three sheets. I repeated this operation 
 at some twenty grocery stores, and finally suc- 
 ceeded in getting enough to print about a 
 hundred copies for our next morning's edition. 
 The sheets were different shades of brown, 
 [100]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 and different thicknesses; so, after this edition 
 was printed, we went over the thinner sheets 
 and filled out with pen and ink the places 
 where the type had failed to print. 
 
 As to ink, we were more fortunate. It was 
 supplied to us through our chief stock in trade, 
 the ill-will toward our competitor. An ink 
 salesman came into our office early, and let 
 us have a barrel of ink on our own terms, on 
 account of an old grievance against his treat- 
 ment by Damon, the publisher of the News. 
 
 "I don't care if you never pay for it," he 
 said. 
 
 There was no expense for labour. Lee did 
 the typesetting, and we turned out the papers 
 on a foot-press by the two-man power of the 
 firm. Lee slept in the printing plant. But it 
 required great mental effort to provide our 
 daily food. 
 
 For some weeks I stayed at the boarding- 
 [110]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 house. But matters were going almost as 
 badly with "Ma" and "Pa" as with us. 
 Finally "Ma" announced that hereafter she 
 would serve no more meals on Sundays. This 
 was a sudden and disastrous blow for me. I 
 was getting credit at the boarding-house; but 
 where could I provide actual cash to feed my- 
 self over Sunday? 
 
 The first two Sundays I got through all 
 right, but I woke up on the third without a 
 cent. All I could do was to hunt diligently 
 for some one who would take me out to din- 
 ner. I wandered around in vain until one 
 o'clock, when I ran across Harry Curtis, one 
 of my acquaintances in Day's tailor shop. I 
 asked him if he had dined, and he said he was 
 just through dinner and was on his way to the 
 club. So I went down to the club with him, 
 and we sat together in the window, watching 
 the people passing. I was desperately hungry. 
 [Ill]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 We had been there a little while, when we 
 began to talk about Augustus Thomas' play. 
 "The Witching Hour." Harry said he be- 
 lieved in the theory of the play that it was 
 possible to concentrate your thoughts on some 
 one and make him do as you wished. I im- 
 mediately started trying it out. 
 
 For over an hour I talked about nothing 
 but food. I described in detail different ban- 
 quets I had attended, and their menus. Fin- 
 ally Harry moved uneasily, got up, and said: 
 "Gee, I'm hungry; let's go and have some- 
 thing to eat." 
 
 "I've only got enough money to buy sup- 
 per," said I, "and I don't care to pay for an 
 extra meal." 
 
 "Oh, that's all right," said Harry. "It's 
 my treat." 
 
 So I was fed again. 
 
 But it was hard work, especially as I had to 
 [112]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 do all the planning. After a while I had to 
 give up taking my meals at the boarding-house 
 and only roomed there. And Lee and I 
 stayed in the shop, and warmed what food we 
 could get over the little stove in the office. 
 We lived on as little as one dollar a week 
 apiece. 
 
 Even then we almost came to a stop. 
 Every night I would come in with the receipts 
 of the day, and we would sit together by the 
 stove and rest. 
 
 "We've got to do something," I'd say. 
 
 "That's right," old Lee would answer, wag- 
 ging his head up and down. 
 
 "Right off, too," I'd say. 
 
 "Yep, that's right," he'd agree, and wag his 
 head again feebly and sit staring at the floor. 
 
 The night after we printed our wrapping- 
 paper edition, we found ourselves on the dead 
 centre again, with just a few cents between us. 
 [113]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 So I turned and suggested to Lee that he let 
 me interview him on his impressions of Salem. 
 He did. He gave me one of the strongest 
 interviews I ever heard concerning Salem in 
 about one hundred words. I wrote it out and 
 headed it "An interview with a Prominent 
 Citizen." We had just three sheets of paper 
 left. 
 
 We printed these. Lee had a few coppers; 
 so, when we were done, I turned to him and 
 offered to sell him the whole edition for three 
 cents. Lee didn't fully understand the trans- 
 action, but, as usual, he trusted to my judg- 
 ment and handed over the three cents, took 
 the three newspapers, and put them into his 
 box, as I suggested. 
 
 Our paper was like nothing on earth in those 
 days ; and especially peculiar editions still com- 
 mand high prices locally, after the fashion of 
 rare postage stamps. 
 
 [114]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 That morning at nine o'clock we were sit- 
 ting mournfully in the office, still wondering 
 how we would get breakfast, when the door 
 opened and a fresh politician, who bought our 
 paper every day, came in. 
 
 "Is your little paper out this morning?" 
 said he. 
 
 "Yes," said I. 
 
 He took a penny out of his pocket and 
 tossed it to me, saying: 
 
 "Well, give us a copy of it." 
 
 "The entire edition is sold out," I said. 
 
 "That's funny," said he. "Anything spe- 
 cial in it this morning?" 
 
 * There was an interview that was sent us 
 last night," I replied. "The man regretted 
 it afterward, and bought up the entire edi- 
 tion." 
 
 Our fresh friend stood around for a few min- 
 utes. Finally he put his hand in his pocket 
 [1151
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 and pulled out a lot of silver, saying: "I 
 tell you what I'll do with you: I'll give you 
 hah* a dollar for a copy." 
 
 "Sorry," I said, "but we are all sold out." 
 
 "Haven't you got a single copy?" he asked. 
 
 "Not one," I said. 
 
 "How on earth can I get one?" 
 
 "I can't help you out," I said to him, "but 
 if you want to be sure in future, the way to do 
 is to become a yearly subscriber; then we are 
 forced to deliver the paper no matter what's 
 in it." 
 
 At that he drew out some bills and laid 
 down three dollars, saying: "Put me down 
 for a year." 
 
 Before that night we had four or five new 
 yearly subscribers at three dollars apiece from 
 other men, whom our friend had spoken to 
 during the day. So the Dispatch went 011 
 again. 
 
 [116]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 But there is a turning-point to everything, 
 and by and by ours came. More than any- 
 thing else, it was due to my friends Bill 
 Sanborn, who gave me my first cordial greet- 
 ing to Salem, and "Ed" Allen, whom he spoke 
 to me about that first day of my newspaper. 
 The crowd which gathered about Day's shop 
 were growing enthusiastic about the Dis- 
 patch, as it waded into local affairs. "Link" 
 Allen, the alderman, whose letter had brought 
 the paper into politics, was a good-hearted 
 fellow. He made a specialty of supplying 
 me with cigars, the one indulgence I retained. 
 Both Sanborn and "Ed" Allen were always 
 doing me some kindness in an unobtrusive 
 way. 
 
 One day, while we were all in Day's office, 
 Sanborn suggested a method of getting myself 
 and my newspaper before the public. He 
 proposed to get me an invitation to speak at
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 the annual meeting of the Now and Then 
 Association, an organization of eight hundred 
 of the young business men of the city, and 
 finally he manoeuvred until he secured the 
 opportunity for me. 
 
 It was something of an anxiety to me 
 the question of getting to that banquet. Both 
 of my dress-suits were in a pawnshop in Bos- 
 ton and I hadn't a cent to get them out with. 
 Finally I went to the pawnbroker in Boston, 
 and talked him into letting me have a suit for 
 that night. It took an hour's talking, but I 
 came out of the store with the suit on, leaving 
 behind the suit I had been wearing, and a 
 written agreement to bring the dress-clothes 
 back the next day. I spent a good while 
 dressing, especially in repairing my only pair 
 of shoes, which were badly cracked across 
 the top. But I finally blacked them up so 
 I could wear them. 
 
 [118]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 The toastmaster was a man from the News 
 office. The first speaker was the mayor of 
 Salem, John F. Hurley; after him a politician 
 from Boston spoke on state affairs, a clergy- 
 man talked on "Good Behaviour," and an ex- 
 president of the association followed him. A 
 more melancholy collection of human speech 
 was never put together. It was after ten 
 o'clock, and the man from the News office, who 
 was toastmaster, arose and said with crushing 
 emphasis : 
 
 "We have only a few minutes left; and I 
 now introduce Arthur Howard, the editor of 
 the Dispatch. 
 
 Whereupon he took his watch from his 
 pocket and laid it down in front of me. So I 
 arose before my first audience in Salem. It 
 was a chilly one. I had been warned by Bill 
 not to be too serious. 
 
 "Isn't it rather dangerous, Mr. Toast- 
 [119]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 master," I said, "to place your watch in 
 front of me, knowing my financial condition? " 
 
 They sat up and laughed a little at that. 
 
 "Mr. Toastmaster and gentlemen," I said, 
 "you will notice that I do not call you friends, 
 and I will tell you the reason why. 
 
 "A number of years ago a Salem boy came 
 to New York and enlisted in a local regiment. 
 The first week that he was in it, the regiment 
 went into camp, and the Salem boy was put 
 on guard outside the Colonel's tent. Late 
 that night the Colonel came home. The sentry 
 had never seen him before. 
 
 "As the Colonel approached his tent, the 
 Salem boy stepped forward and said, 'Who 
 goes there?' 
 
 "A friend," said the Colonel. 
 'You're a liar,' said the Salem boy. 'I 
 never saw you before in my life.' And so, 
 gentlemen," I continued, "if I said friends, I
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 am fearful you would all jump up and say: 
 'You're a liar, Howard. We never saw you 
 before in our lives." 
 
 My audience laughed at this, and I quickly 
 followed it with a few humorous anecdotes 
 about members of the club, and closed with a 
 reference to my independent position as a 
 newspaper man. My speech took just ten 
 minutes to deliver, and I ended it as follows: 
 
 !< You probably wonder what I am doing in 
 Salem, and I think I ought to explain to you 
 that I publish a newspaper here called the 
 Dispatch, the circulation of which reaches 
 2,999. Some of you gentlemen look doubtful, 
 so let me explain here where the copies go. 
 
 "We have an annual subscriber, the Essex 
 Institute, which is compelled to subscribe 
 by its charter; I give one copy to my land- 
 lady in part payment for my food; seven cop- 
 ies are actually sold on the streets for cash; 
 [121]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 and 2,990 copies are given away to educate 
 the public. That makes a total of 2,999." 
 
 The diners laughed a good deal over my 
 speech. A "jolly" was evidently the kind of 
 thing they wanted, and when I went out of the 
 hall, Bill met me outside in the corridor and 
 shook my hand, saying: "Your speech was 
 all right, Howard; you certainly made good 
 with the fellows." 
 
 All at once he looked down and saw my 
 shoes. 
 
 "Say," he said in his usual blunt way, 
 "you didn't change your shoes to-night; 
 you've got your working shoes on." 
 
 I was caught unawares. 
 
 "Why, Bill," I said, "those are the only 
 shoes I own." 
 
 He looked at me a minute. Then he put 
 his hand in his pocket and brought out a lot 
 of bills. 
 
 [122]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 "Here," he said, "I want to subscribe to 
 your paper for a year. Make it two years!" 
 he added impulsively, handing me a five- 
 and a one-dollar bill. 
 
 "I want to see you to-morrow evening in 
 Allen's office," he said finally. 
 
 The next day at ten o'clock I was in Ed 
 Allen's office. 
 
 "Tell him what we were talking about, 
 Ed," said Sanborn, after a pause. 
 
 Then they told me that they wanted to 
 help me as much as they could afford to 
 that there were a lot of people in Salem who 
 admired the newspaper for its work. San- 
 born suggested that I form a company, 
 and perhaps I could sell a little stock in 
 it. They would pay for the incorporation, 
 and each of them would buy twenty-five 
 dollars' worth of stock themselves. Then 
 they each laid down twenty-five dollars. I 
 [123]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 went up to Boston and got my legal friend, 
 Mr. Peabody, to incorporate the Salem Dis- 
 patch Company. Soon after that we began 
 bringing out a larger paper. We still pub- 
 lished only four pages, but we increased the 
 sheet's size until it was a little less like a 
 hand-bill. 
 
 What made the paper possible was its inde- 
 pendent comments on local affairs. The 
 News, which had had a monopoly of the daily 
 fields in the past, had been very free with its 
 comments in early days, when it was strug- 
 gling for existence. Its editor had even left 
 for Europe following a libel suit, in those 
 days of its beginning. But now it was so 
 situated that free comment on the various 
 gangs in control of the city were not in its 
 programs. Some of the leading politicians 
 were its own stockholders. This situation 
 gave me my opportunity, and I opened 
 [124]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 up political affairs with enthusiastic free- 
 dom. 
 
 I was constantly calling on the merchants, 
 trying to interest them to advertise. They 
 told me if the newspaper had come to stay 
 and if I would remain in Salem they would 
 advertise, but as both points were doubtful 
 in their minds, they must refuse to do so at 
 present. There was one man, however, who 
 brought in an advertisement of hah* a page 
 for a month, paying me thirty dollars cash 
 in advance. The third day after his adver- 
 tisement appeared he called to tell me that 
 Colonel Peterson had a mortgage on his 
 building and had threatened to foreclose 
 unless the advertisement was taken out of 
 the Dispatch. The merchant was very fair 
 about it and said he would take twenty- 
 seven dollars' worth of stock in the Dispatch 
 Company, but his advertisement must be 
 [125]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 removed. I can't say that this transaction 
 left me feeling especially agreeable toward the 
 Colonel, and I was not long in giving him a 
 couple of jolts in the paper. When I went 
 into the post-office, two days later, Colonel 
 Peterson was coming out. "Link" Allen was 
 with me. He stopped the Colonel and said : 
 
 "Colonel, shake hands with our new editor, 
 Mr. Howard." 
 
 "I never shake hands with a stinker," said 
 the Colonel, striding by and going out into 
 the street. 
 
 The next morning my editorial said : " Yes- 
 terday, Colonel Peterson refused to shake 
 hands with Mr. Howard, saying 'he never 
 shook hands with a strinker.' This puts 
 Colonel Peterson in a peculiar position, be- 
 cause if he never shakes hands with a stinker, 
 it would be impossible for him to shake hands 
 with himself."
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 Some one sent in an article about a former 
 liquor dealer in Salem. It was an illustra- 
 tion of the methods in vogue of securing 
 licenses, evidently written by some one very 
 sore with the liquor dealer. I began to 
 publish it in three instalments. The first 
 day that it came out it created quite a great 
 deal of excitement, and inside of two hours I 
 received a letter warning me that if the second 
 instalment appeared the next day, and I 
 should appear on Town House Square, at 
 eleven o'clock, I would be hi the hospital that 
 night. 
 
 I failed to see anything that was detrimen- 
 tal to the man's character in the articles. 
 They merely dealt with the methods of the 
 various license commissioners, so I published 
 them. 
 
 Ten minutes before eleven I came into 
 Town House Square and stood there until 
 [127]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 twelve o'clock. My man came shortly after 
 eleven and glared at me and then continued 
 down the street. 
 
 Joe Tassinari, who then had charge of our 
 circulation, heard that they were going to 
 wait until night to assault me; and so con- 
 vinced was he that some harm was going to 
 come to me that he walked home with me the 
 night we printed the second instalment. On 
 the day we brought out the third instalment 
 the circulation jumped eight hundred. 
 
 I did not hear from "my man" all day long. 
 Not only did Joe walk home with me that 
 night, but Bill and Ed also. When I got to 
 my boarding-house I waved good-night to 
 them, letting myself in with a latchkey. 
 After I closed the door I saw that the parlour 
 was lit up. I stepped in, and as I did so 
 some one brushed past me and closed the door. 
 Standing towering above me was a very large 
 [128]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 man, his face flushed with anger and his fist 
 doubled up. I knew I was trapped and must 
 act quickly. The only thing I could do was to 
 put on my best smile and remark pleasantly, 
 "Good evening." 
 
 He brought his fist down with a whack, 
 knocking my hand away, and his ring cut a 
 gash in my hand, drawing the blood. I held 
 up my hand and said quietly, "First blood 
 for you. " 
 
 That nonplussed him for a moment and his 
 hands dropped by his side. 
 
 "I am glad you came in," I said, "as I 
 wanted to ask you who it was that sent this 
 story to me." 
 
 He hesitated, then awkwardly sat down in 
 the easy chair. 
 
 I talked cheerfully about my troubles and 
 various other things for an hour. As he 
 listened he got in good humour. Shortly after 
 [129]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 that I had him laughing; and when he left, 
 after talking with me two hours, I saw him 
 out to the door. As his burly figure disap- 
 peared in the darkness I called after him: 
 
 "If you're afraid to go home alone, say the 
 word and I'll go with you to protect you. " 
 
 He laughed and roared back, "You're all 
 right, Howard. I thought you were a fool, 
 but you're not. " 
 
 [150]
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE political situation in Salem at that 
 time was a wonderful and ugly thing. 
 There were no party lines in local 
 elections; the votes were largely divided into 
 the personal following of different individuals. 
 The best known figure was the bluff old 
 swearing "Colonel" Joe Peterson the ex- 
 mayor, the man who handled the money of the 
 State Republican machine in Essex County, 
 and the contractor to whom the political jobs 
 in the county were thrown. 
 
 Then there were the McSweeney brothers, 
 who built their fortunes on the liquor question. 
 Their law firm represented the liquor dealers, 
 while they personally were prominent in the 
 total abstinence societies. One brother was a 
 [131]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 license commissioner, one an alderman, and 
 the third a man-of -all-work for the other two, 
 being the only one of the three not a lawyer. 
 
 A third leader was John F. Hurley, a politi- 
 cal insurgent and the greatest "glad hand" 
 politician in the world, who had graduated into 
 the mayoralty from a long and profitable 
 career in his chosen profession. 
 
 And last, but most active of all, was Doyle, 
 the theatre ticket agent, the director of the 
 Board of Aldermen. From this position he 
 gained the voting strength which comes to the 
 man who controls the employment of city 
 labourers. 
 
 As he was most active in directing the affairs 
 of the city at the time, it was he whom I hit 
 first. 
 
 The most ridiculous and extravagant per- 
 version of the city government's work in re- 
 cent years had been in the building of a new 
 [132]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 high school. Instead of being located some- 
 where near the centre of the city, it was placed 
 in an open pasture at the extreme southwest 
 end of the town, a mile and two miles from the 
 houses of a large number of the pupils. In a 
 city of no greater area than Salem the loca- 
 tion was preposterous. The property was 
 sold to the city by a real estate company 
 whose treasurer and active spirit was the 
 chief banker of Salem and the head of the 
 Electric Light Company, whose rates for light 
 were far from favourable to the city. 
 
 My comments on local affairs began with 
 the treatment of this school situation, fol- 
 lowed by a criticism of the Electric Light 
 Company and the part of Doyle as leader of 
 the aldermen in these matters. 
 
 I had started direct attacks against the 
 politicians early in January. In the last of 
 that month I treated the schoolhouse location 
 [133]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 and the electric light rates in an editorial, 
 "The Magsman. " which I began like this. 
 
 We are going to tell you what a magsman is. 
 A magsman is a swindler of country folk. 
 Would you call this city the country? 
 
 Would you call a man a magsman that held public 
 office, if he voted (as your representative) to build a 
 public building that could be harmful to your children? 
 
 Think it over. 
 
 Wonderful thing, electricity! 
 Do you use it? 
 Can you afford it? 
 
 We think it is very expensive in Salem, don't you? 
 It is for the people to say, and you are the people. 
 Can not we get together on this? Suppose a mass- 
 meeting was held. 
 When shall it be? 
 Don't forget the word magsman. 
 
 Who represents you in the city government? 
 
 Does he vote for the public good? 
 
 Do you know whether he ever benefited personally? 
 
 Did you want the high school where it is? 
 
 Did you know five people that did? 
 
 [134]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 I used various devices like this to catch the 
 attention of the public, but there was general 
 interest in disclosures concerning the manage- 
 ment of city affairs. Another matter I took 
 up after the schoolhouse and electric light 
 rates was the waste of money in buying a 
 melancholy plot of land by the city for a 
 breathing space which we call "Bunco Park." 
 
 It was my purpose, so far as possible, to 
 attack the political system, and not individu- 
 als; but more and more events drew me into 
 comments on individuals. The most effective 
 treatment of my theme I found to be a rather 
 flippant burlesque. 
 
 This proved very successful, more especially 
 when directed against my brusque competitor 
 and the solemn congregation of sidewalk poli- 
 ticians who ran the city from Town House 
 Square. 
 
 The day after "The Magsman" editorial 
 [135]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 appeared I had occasion to go to Boston. 
 A banker, whom I had accused of being 
 mixed up with the high school and electric 
 light deal came breathlessly through the train 
 and sat down beside me. 
 
 "This is Mr. Howard, I believe," he said. 
 
 "Yes, "I replied. 
 
 "I have been much interested in your little 
 paper," he observed. 
 
 "It is pretty small," I answered. 
 
 "While I have no idea of getting into a 
 controversy with a newspaper, knowing that 
 they always have the last word," he said, 
 " at the same time I want to tell you that you 
 are entirely mistaken in regard to the electric 
 lighting contract I had nothing to do with it 
 at all. It was planned by the city, and we 
 merely came to their terms." 
 
 "There is no occasion," I said, "for you to 
 apologize to me. The people to whom you 
 [136]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 should apologize are the citizens of Salem or 
 those in control." 
 
 "I am not apologizing," he interrupted. 
 "I am merely stating facts to you in order 
 that you may make a correction, but I think 
 that you have been misled by some one who is 
 annoyed with me. " 
 
 "You are probably referring to some article 
 that appeared in my newspaper," I said. 
 "While I am responsible, as editor, for every 
 word that appears there, still the boys do get 
 a little gay once in a while and have their fun, 
 and it is too bad if they have had it at your 
 expense. " 
 
 The banker smiled grimly. 
 
 "I guess you are the editor, the boys, the 
 printer, and the pressman," he said. 
 
 "You are better informed about my busi- 
 ness than I am about yours, " I answered. 
 
 "What I want to correct are those two 
 [137]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 statements in your paper in which you say 
 that the high-school property was landed on to 
 the city of Salem for twice its value, and again 
 where you say that the contract with the city 
 of Salem for lighting the streets was made at 
 double the proper cost. " 
 
 "I should be very pleased," I replied, "to 
 give you the first page of my paper to-morrow 
 morning and you can write such denial and 
 sign your name to it. " 
 
 "I don't care to get into a controversy with 
 the newspaper," he interrupted; "I only 
 wanted to explain it. " 
 
 "Well, why don't you explain it to those in 
 authority? I am not in control now," I said, 
 "though I may be next year." 
 
 He looked up with a start. "What do you 
 mean by that?" he asked. 
 
 "Why, I am going to run for mayor," I 
 replied. 
 
 [138]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 "Now, I know you're crazy," said the 
 banker, taking up his paper and commencing 
 to read. 
 
 But after we got to Lynn he started in to 
 tell me all over again about the electric light- 
 ing contract, and before I got to Boston, I 
 must confess, I believed that I had made a 
 mistake in my articles. We parted pleas- 
 antly. When I got back to Salem the man at 
 the news stand in the depot called me. "Do 
 you want to hear a funny story?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes, "I replied. 
 
 "Well," he said, "one of our most prom- 
 inent bankers ran this morning for the first 
 time in his life trying to catch you. " 
 
 "What do you mean?" I asked 
 
 "Why," he replied, "when you got on the 
 
 train he came rushing into the depot and said 
 
 * wasn't that Howard that just stepped on that 
 
 train?' I said 'y es / and he ran and jumped 
 
 [139]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 on after you. Perhaps," said the newsboy, 
 "he is going to loan you a lot of money. 
 Anyway, it is the first time that I ever saw 
 him run." 
 
 "Hmm!" I thought, as I walked up from the 
 depot to my office. " No wonder he bluffs the 
 people he almost bluffed me. " 
 
 Just to feel my way toward the mayoralty, 
 I came out the next day with the following 
 editorial: 
 
 WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH SALEM 
 
 We have heard the question asked and debated as to 
 "what is the matter with Salem?" All answers seem 
 to be that the people are filled with lethargy or " asleep 
 at the switch." Those who say this are the so-called 
 leaders here or principal officeholders in the city. We 
 have been watching things closely the last four 
 weeks and we disagree with any one that says the people 
 are asleep. There are no more enterprising or wide- 
 awake people in the country than our people; they 
 have proved this by the way they have purchased the 
 Dispatch the last ten days. As soon as we gave them 
 [140]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 a decent looking sheet, the poor as well as the rich 
 have bought all the copies we could print. 
 
 The only detriment to this city is the city officials 
 and corporations. The Board of Aldermen has only 
 two members who are high-spirited citizens. The 
 majority of the Council are so busy wondering what 
 the other half is going to do that they let the real busi- 
 ness slide. Jealousy and bickering are their principal 
 thoughts and actions. They will talk one hour about 
 supervision of rules, and another knocking the Fire 
 Department; but will only half listen to a request to 
 help a business enterprise. They should not stop busi- 
 ness enterprises, but help them along. 
 
 Any member of the Board of Aldermen who holds 
 electric light stock should resign; if not from the Board 
 at least from the co mmittee where he has a vote. 
 
 The Electric Light Company is a serious detriment 
 to the city; they let personal matters interfere with the 
 progress of affairs. The Dispatch is only too well 
 convinced of this. For three days we tried to find out 
 whether we would have electric power or no. If the 
 City Electrician had spent half the time in telling us 
 what was the trouble, instead of telephoning and run- 
 ning to "KISS THE ELECTRIC COMPANY GOOD 
 MORNING," another enterprise would be running 
 smoothly now. The Electric Light Company are 
 
 [M1J
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 entitled only to fair play; there is absolutely no reason 
 why they should ask favours of any one; they should 
 get their rights without manipulation; and they will. 
 All this rot of having an alderman to represent a cor- 
 poration looks badly. We must clean all these tool 
 heads out. Let the people be represented by REAL 
 MF/N who get up and say what they know, and how 
 they know it. Of the Mayor and City Marshal we 
 cannot really express our opinion; but we do not think 
 they represent the people. Next year our Mayor is 
 going to be a "DISTURBER." He is going to be a 
 "NIGHT HAWK," and he sits here just crazy to get 
 to work. He lives in Salem, but he will come from 
 "Missouri." 
 
 No alderman can whisper in his ear; they have got 
 to speak out before every one "LOUD and CLEAR." 
 
 There are not going to be any "STEAM DRILLS," 
 "STEAMROLLERS," "PAVING DEALS," "LAND 
 DEALS"; there will be no HIGH SCHOOLS built in 
 God-forsaken spots, or land landed on this city. 
 From Ward 1 to 6 there is going to be a housecleaning. 
 The man that sells liquor one minute after hours, or 
 without a license, is going to stop if the Mayor has to 
 prefer charges against the Chief of Police and every 
 man on the force seven days a week and 365 times in 
 a year. 
 
 [142]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 It is a public disgrace that Salem people are not 
 represented as they should be. There are at present 
 only five real men in city affairs; the rest are either the 
 deadest kind of woodenheads or so tangled up with 
 grafters that even their trousers are mortgaged to 
 political bosses. 
 
 There is absolutely nothing the matter with Salem 
 or its people, but the principal corporations and office- 
 holders are the LIMIT they are selfish, contempti- 
 ble and lacking in brains. Reform with a big "R" will 
 sweep this town from end to end. 
 
 There will be a mayor who will not hold up every 
 bill that smells of graft, but will watch those $44,000 
 street lights like a cat to see that they do their 
 duty, and he will make every individual (be he a 
 lawyer with a pull, or a city official) keep the sidewalks 
 clean. 
 
 The liquor people will be kept straight, but given 
 fair play. The police will have to do their duty; and 
 every word spoken in the City Hall meetings will be 
 published in the Dispatch. 
 
 The people MUST and WILL rule in Salem. 
 "PULL" must end. "GRAFT" must cease. 
 
 And we predict that after Feb. 1, 1910, the question 
 will never be asked again: 
 
 "What is the matter with Salem?" 
 [143]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 I didn't know exactly how the readers of 
 my paper would take my flirtation with the 
 mayoralty, but I had what they call a 
 "hunch" that the people of Salem would like 
 to run their own affairs. Later events seemed 
 to show I was right. 
 
 [144]
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 A SOON as it became known around 
 that I was going to run for mayor, 
 Bill and Ed and George Day decided 
 that it would be a good idea if we went over 
 Sunday to Bill's camp in the country and had 
 some of the young men around town down 
 there to discuss the situation. We left Salem 
 late Saturday afternoon and Lee went with us. 
 When we got up to the camp I was intro- 
 duced to about a dozen young business men, 
 and we sat down and commenced to discuss 
 the methods that would be used. I cannot 
 remember at this time exactly what they said, 
 but I recall the conducting of the campaign 
 was left entirely to me, and I merely agreed 
 to inform them as to what plan I intended to 
 [145]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 cany out. In discussing city affairs in gen- 
 eral, I explained to them that an examination 
 showed that it was a very difficult proposition. 
 In Ward 1 we had almost entirely Polish and 
 the working class of people who knew no 
 reason why they should be deprived of their 
 beer if they wished it. In Ward 2 we had the 
 residential, quiet class to be appealed to, peo- 
 ple who closely observed the liquor laws. In 
 Ward 3 the aristocrats resided, whereas Ward 
 4 was almost entirely the Irish district, and 
 Hurley and Alderman Doyle and the Mc- 
 Sweeneys were Irish, and it would be natural 
 to surmise that this district was to be divided 
 up among the three of them, and yet in my 
 visits up there I had made some very good 
 friends and had some firm supporters among 
 them. Ward 5 was a very difficult ward to 
 penetrate because it included twelve thousand 
 French people. Ward 6 were all very closely 
 [146]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 affiliated together, and were almost sure to 
 support only people from their own ward. 
 My idea of conducting the campaign was to 
 do it mostly through my newspaper for the 
 next four or five months, sailing into any 
 candidate that came up for office, and stating 
 what I would do if elected. My idea about the 
 French people was to leave them entirely alone 
 until the last couple of days before election, 
 and then to make a whirlwind tour through 
 the French clubs and try to catch them by 
 spectacular methods. Meantime, I was to 
 make perhaps one or two speeches a week 
 anywhere I was invited, throwing every day 
 bombshells into the political crowds. 
 
 Early in April I wrote an ironical editorial 
 on " How to Make Money in Salem, " holding 
 that the best way was to start a newspaper. 
 A day or two afterward I made this amend- 
 ment to it: 
 
 [147]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 We wrote the other day saying that the way to 
 get rich was to run a newspaper in Salem. While 
 we were right, a better and surer way is to take 
 tickets at "the door of a theatre. You can buy real 
 estate, and accumulate five thousand dollars in 
 electric light stock, and all on eighteen dollars a 
 week. 
 
 As soon as Alderman Doyle read it, he 
 said: 
 
 "Howard ought to be shot." 
 
 When I heard this verdict I went down 
 to the office and got out a paper with 
 a huge headline on the front page so that 
 it was the very first thing to strike the 
 eye. 
 
 CAN A CROOKED ALDERMAN SHOOT 
 STRAIGHT? 
 
 A member of the Board of Aldermen said yesterday 
 that the editor of the Dispatch should be shot. 
 
 As our editor weighs only one hundred thirteen 
 pounds, it will take a pretty good marksman to hit 
 
 [148]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 him; and even then a man as thin as that might cut the 
 bullet in two. 
 
 Personally, we agree with the alderman; but the 
 idea is not new. We thought years ago that we ought 
 to be shot. 
 
 But who shall do it? Surely a crooked alderman can 
 not shoot straight. And we insist on a good job. 
 After all, it would eliminate the question of earning 
 money to live, and we dislike work. 
 
 We will be generous. If the alderman proves to us 
 he never took graft, we will give him this paper and 
 shoot ourselves. 
 
 One after another, as issues came up, I 
 devoted my editorial to him. The idea took 
 and my circulation increased in a month to 
 three or four hundred copies. And, in the 
 meanwhile, I disclosed my ambition of run- 
 ning for mayor to all of the friends of Sanborn 
 and Ed Allen. Surprising as it may seem, 
 they took it. Considering the class of men 
 who had recently held the office, it was not so 
 preposterous, after all. I had had experience, 
 [149]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 the education of large affairs and of wide 
 travel in Europe and America. And I had 
 a newspaper through which I could appeal 
 directly to the people. Both Sanborn and 
 Allen started with characteristic energy to 
 back my campaign. 
 
 It was spring, and the election was not until 
 the following December; but, contrary to all 
 precedent, I began to feel out public senti- 
 ment. On April 10th I came out with an 
 editorial in which I said that the citizens of 
 Salem wanted a change. 
 
 OUR NEXT MAYOR - A PREDICTION 
 
 The next mayor must be a fearless man who can 
 take the helm without fear or favour and without giv- 
 ing a promise to any one; and in order to be elected he 
 must have a newspaper behind him. There are only 
 three men who can do that here: 
 
 Mr. Robin Damon, of the News. 
 
 Hon. J. D. A. Gauss, of the Observer [a weekly 
 paperj. 
 
 [150]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 And one other. 
 
 Mr. Damon has not proved his fitness for the posi- 
 tion. He is not a man who can go out and campaign 
 for mayor until election, speaking night and day, for 
 he is neither an orator nor a good writer. His popu- 
 larity is in doubt. He had the opportunity to expose 
 the graft in Salem, but he let it slide. 
 
 It looks as if a candidate were available, and we 
 believe that one we have in mind will be elected (just 
 to see what he would do) ; and we hope his manhood will 
 assert itself to such an extent that people will ever 
 after say: "The year that newspaper fellow was in 
 no one dared graft; our streets were clean, and the 
 liquor laws obeyed." 
 
 The next day I announced myself a candi- 
 date for mayor. My paper's circulation was 
 now fifteen hundred. 
 
 The politicians took this at first rather as 
 a huge joke very naturally. I could not 
 even register as a citizen of Massachusetts for 
 three months to come. But I kept hammer- 
 ing them day after day, in one matter or 
 [151]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 another, until they lost their amusement in a 
 confused anger. 
 
 Day after day I had been working, not to 
 trap individuals, but to unearth the methods 
 of the system as a whole. There was one big 
 job in particular which I wanted to learn about, 
 but always it eluded me. There was a go- 
 between in it, but I could never put my hand 
 on him. Finally I was told that the man I 
 wanted was a fellow named Ned Bates.* 
 
 Almost immediately upon my announce- 
 ment that I was a candidate for mayor, the 
 candidacy was announced of Robert Pollock, 
 an ex-license commissioner, who was supposed 
 to have the French votes in his pocket. He 
 ran a barber shop, and was very popular, 
 but was unable to make a speech. He was 
 strongly affiliated with the Republican party 
 and was one of the members of the Legis- 
 
 * This name is fictitious. 
 
 [152]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 lature from Salem. The following week one 
 of the McSweeney brothers William 
 came out and announced that he was a candi- 
 date for mayor, appealing to the young Irish 
 voters for support. 
 
 Next came John F. Hurley, the present 
 mayor, announcing that he would be a candi- 
 date, claiming that he was a "good fellow" 
 and would take care of all parties. The News 
 leaned toward the McSweeneys. Meantime, 
 a Good Government Association was formed. 
 This association was made up of aristocrats 
 and business men with an idea of purifying 
 Salem politically, and one of their candi- 
 dates for office was Alderman Adams, who 
 had displayed some independence in the 
 Board, but somehow or other they did 
 not seem to think that he wanted to be a 
 candidate for mayor, so they put him up 
 again for membership in the Board of Alder> 
 [153]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 men, selecting a Mr. Goodhue as candidate 
 for mayor. 
 
 One night I went into a restaurant, and over 
 in one corner I saw Bates. I went over to his 
 table and sat down opposite him. He was 
 drunk and very talkative. After he had 
 finished his meal, he walked over to my office 
 with me and sat down. Suddenly he began to 
 tell me about the deal, and as he told me 
 I wrote down what he said. When he got 
 through I read him what I had written. 
 
 "That's the story," he said, "complete; 
 and I hope you send them both to jail. " 
 
 "Would you sign it?" 
 
 "Sure I would," he said, and picked up a 
 pen and wrote his name at the bottom. 
 
 When he left I wrote an editorial which I 
 called the "Crookedest Crook in Crook- 
 haven. " 
 
 My campaign was warming up political 
 [154]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 circles in Salem. The sad congregation of 
 politicians on Town House Square was stirred 
 every day to its core; and I could hear the 
 terrible Colonel begin to rumble two blocks 
 away whenever I went down the main street. 
 Anonymous letters appeared in which my 
 early destruction was freely predicted; and 
 my partner, Lee, moved uneasily and gave out 
 unexpected warnings as we sat about the office 
 stove. 
 
 Somewhere about the first of May I went 
 home to my boarding-house one early morning 
 after the paper had gone to press. I sat at my 
 window, with the curtain up, and began to 
 write my first public speech in my campaign 
 for mayor. It was about two o'clock in the 
 morning. Suddenly there was a crash beside 
 me, and I felt the house shake. Looking out 
 in the moonlight, I saw on the ground a stone 
 about twice the size of my hand, and reaching 
 
 [ 155 ]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 out of the window I located the dent where it 
 had struck the side of the house. 
 
 It had missed the glass by about three 
 inches. There was nobody to be seen, and I 
 went back and lay down on the bed, wondering 
 what I ought to do. 
 
 About twenty minutes later some one whis- 
 tled outside my window. I raised it again, 
 and there stood Lee. 
 
 "Is that you, Howard?" he said. "Say, 
 can I see you a minute?" 
 
 I went down and let him in, and he told me 
 that two or three men had been down at the 
 Dispatch office pounding on the door and 
 threatening to "lick" the editor. Then they 
 had thrown stones at the building, one of 
 which had broken a window. 
 
 Finally he asked me if I had fifty cents, and 
 after I had given it to him he hung around for 
 half an hour, saying nothing in particular. 
 [156]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 Just before he left he got up and shook hands 
 with me, wishing me all kinds of luck. 
 
 I didn't understand it at the time; but the 
 next morning, when I stopped at the post- 
 office, I got the following letter: 
 
 Dear Howard: 
 
 Perhaps you can stand it, but I can't. Good luck 
 to you. 
 
 That was the end of my first partner. 
 
 Three weeks later I received a brief letter 
 from him saying that he had enlisted in the 
 United States Army. I couldn't blame Lee 
 for his conduct, but I received his second letter 
 with regret. It has profoundly shaken my 
 confidence in the standing army of the United 
 States. 
 
 My printer had gone, and I regretted him. 
 We had been through hard times together. 
 But I had in the meantime found another close 
 [157]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 business associate. I had made connections 
 with Johnny, the official Dispatch newsboy. 
 
 Early in the year, while I was still acting as 
 my own newsboy, we were visited one day by a 
 very small boy enveloped in a very long, 
 dingy overcoat. His name, he said, was 
 Johnny Alwyn. 
 
 He said that he had seen the Dispatch and 
 would like to take a chance selling it. I told 
 him we sold it to newsboys two for a cent; 
 whereupon he laid down a penny and invested 
 in two on the spot. 
 
 He had been gone about ten minutes, when 
 he returned and laid down one of the two 
 copies. 
 
 "I don't think I care to sell them any 
 more," he remarked. 
 
 "Very well," I said; "we will give you your 
 penny back, and we are very glad to have met 
 
 you." 
 
 [158
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 "I'm satisfied," he said, "but I'm through 
 with your paper. It isn't any good and I don't 
 think I can sell it. " 
 
 He had an intelligent face and an odd gift of 
 language. I took a fancy to him; so the next 
 day, when I ran across him on the street, I 
 asked him to come down to the office. 
 
 "What for? "he asked. 
 
 "I want to put through a business deal with 
 you," I said. 
 
 "I guess I'll put through a business deal, 
 maybe," said Johnny, somewhat suspiciously, 
 "but I don't want to handle your paper; it's 
 no good." 
 
 However, I finally induced Johnny to allow 
 me to make daily consignments of papers to 
 him, so that he could handle them without 
 financial risk, and in a short time he was the 
 most ardent associate in our enterprise. He 
 was about the size of a grasshopper, and the 
 [159]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 way he would march up to the Town House 
 Square politicians and try and sell the papers 
 attacking them was a thing grotesque to see. 
 
 "Here you are, Colonel," he would say, 
 shaking the Dispatch in front of the warlike 
 leader of the street-pavers. "Here you are 
 Dispatch. All about you !" 
 
 The Colonel would let out a roar that almost 
 lifted him off his feet: 
 
 "Go home, you brat! You ought to be 
 licked within an inch of your life. " 
 
 In a short time Johnny had reached the 
 opinion that the Dispatch was the greatest of 
 human institutions, and recognized that he 
 was an essential part of it. He insisted upon 
 seeing and talking with the editor personally. 
 It became his opinion that if I would publish 
 something besides politics he could sell a great 
 number of copies, and when I asked him to 
 name a topic of general interest, he suggested 
 [160]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 that I write about the newsboys. That night 
 there was a circus in town, and Johnny at- 
 tended it as my guest. The next issue I 
 devoted to a description of our business 
 alliance with Johnny, and our experience at the 
 circus, under the caption: 
 
 THE CIRCUS COMES TO TOWN 
 
 The show was just what would please an editor and 
 a newsboy. There were bareback riders, and a con- 
 tortionist, clowns, wire-walkers, trapeze actors, ponies, 
 and everything that makes the eyes dilate and the 
 pulse beat. The contortionist was great, and two of 
 the clowns were very funny. One tried to carry the 
 other out of the ring, and his efforts made Johnny laugh 
 until he swallowed a peanut whole. Johnny found two 
 friends after the show, and we all had "hot dogs" 
 together. We like Johnny, and his observations and 
 appreciation of the circus are worth recording. 
 Johnny is not only a good business man, but an agree- 
 able companion; and, judging by the way he digested 
 the peanuts, candy, and "hot dogs," we should say his 
 stomach was made of iron. 
 
 [161]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 As soon as Johnny read this tribute, he 
 insisted on taking all the papers, and set off at 
 once for his station in Town House Square, 
 yelling in his shrill voice: "Salem Dispatch. 
 All about me!" He sold the entire edition, 
 and not only established his reputation, but 
 ours at the same time. 
 
 Our circulation was increasing daily through 
 those spring months of 1909. But we were 
 still having our troubles. Some time after we 
 formed The Salem Dispatch Company we 
 enlarged the size of our page, and gave the 
 work of printing to a local job printer. We 
 hoped to get advertising in this way, but we 
 didn't get any to speak of. We were making 
 no money; in fact, we were running behind. 
 And finally the Salem printer told me he could 
 not go on any longer, and I had to make 
 arrangements with a man in Lynn, six miles 
 away, to print the Dispatch. He took over 
 [1621
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 my type and started printing. He had been 
 at this only a short time when I got a telegram 
 stating that his plant had been destroyed by 
 fire. All the type I owned went with it, and 
 neither one of us had a dollar's worth of in- 
 surance. Again it looked as if the Dispatch 
 had reached its end. When I came back from 
 Lynn that night I didn't see how I could 
 possibly go on. 
 
 As I sat in my office, wondering what I 
 would do, I saw a letter on my desk from a 
 local dealer to whom I owed twenty-five dol- 
 lars. I had no desire to open it at that time, 
 but finally I tore it open and found the fol- 
 lowing enclosed: 
 
 Dear Mr. Howard: 
 
 I have just heard that you have been burned out, 
 and appreciate fully the difficult position you must 
 be in. You owe me twenty-five dollars, and I enclose 
 a check for twenty-five dollars more. Please send me 
 fifty dollars' worth of stock in your company. 
 
 163]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 The twenty-five dollars that he gave me 
 went into type the next morning, and I started 
 to set up the paper myself. My typesetting 
 was a strange and wonderful piece of work; 
 but I finally got it done, and arranged with a 
 Salem job printer to run it off for me. When 
 he had run off about a hundred copies he was 
 called to the telephone. As if by intuition I 
 went over to the nearest font of type and 
 changed the date of the paper one day for- 
 ward. I felt that somebody was going to tell 
 him not to print for us. When he came back 
 he said: "Something has happened to my 
 press; I can't print any more papers for you. " 
 
 " Well, run fifty more for me, " I answered, 
 "and I will be satisfied." 
 
 So he ran off fifty more, and I got out my 
 paper for two days more. I learned after- 
 ward that Damon of the News was on the 
 other end of the wire. 
 
 [164]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 I was constantly in receipt of encouraging 
 and friendly letters, most of them from work- 
 ingmen who were coming to recognize me as 
 on their side of the fence. One of the letters 
 made such an impression on me that I give it 
 below: 
 
 AN APPRECIATION 
 
 To the Editor of the Dispatch: 
 
 The undersigned can no longer refrain from writing 
 to tell you how welcome to his ears is the now prev- 
 alent newsboy's cry of the Morning Dispatch, for it 
 heralds the arrival of relief of a long stricken city. 
 
 Could a greater malediction befall a city than a 
 monopoly of its press the only instrument for the 
 rapid and concrete dissemination among the people of 
 the doings of its public servants and the intelligence of 
 the day? 
 
 We are hearing a great deal nowadays about monop- 
 olies at one time or another, but can you conceive a 
 more despicable monopoly than that of the press in a 
 given community? Pause, if only for a moment, and 
 contemplate just what such a monopoly means I If it 
 means anything, it means that it is within the power of 
 
 [165]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 one man, the owner of the controlling interest in the 
 paper, to present in its true or perverted form or even 
 withhold altogether such information as he may see 
 fit. What a monarchial power that is to allow to 
 repose in the hands of a single individual in a presum- 
 ably democratic city! Could a more contemptible 
 state of affairs exist even in darkest Russia with its 
 censors of the press? And yet, until just before the 
 last city election, when the publication of the Morn- 
 ing Dispatch was begun, Salem had for a long time been 
 subject to just such a malediction. 
 
 With your advent into the local field of journalism 
 reports of important happenings in city affairs will not, 
 the writer firmly believes, be studiously perverted for 
 base political reasons, if not entirely suppressed, or 
 given minor attention in the press, while matters of 
 practically no importance are laid before the people in 
 glaring headlines; the Mayor and members of the City 
 Council will no longer allow themselves to be intimi- 
 dated and coerced in their actions or feel constrained to 
 see that the press representatives fill so many positions 
 on boards and commissions of the city through fear of 
 being misrepresented to their constituents by the press; 
 and rumours of graft, petty, or otherwise, will not be 
 so prevalent. 
 
 The citizens of Salem owe you a great deal more 
 [166]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 than they realize at this time for the courageous in- 
 stallation of your newspaper in this community, and 
 the writer firmly believes that, as your paper becomes 
 better known, you will receive the cordial support of 
 all good citizens. 
 
 Yours truly, 
 
 HEMAN CURTIS. 
 
 Mr. Curtis was a brother of the man to 
 whom I gave the absent treatment to get 
 something to eat. I replied to his letter and 
 asked him to call and see me. After several 
 conferences he elected to become a member of 
 the staff of the Dispatch without pay. 
 
 And now it was necessary to start a new 
 plant, so I sent for all my friends to hold a 
 conference and to raise money. 
 
 Curtis put in one hundred dollars. San- 
 born and Ed Allen each put in fifty dollars 
 more, and several other people contributed 
 small amounts. By a part payment I got a 
 good little press in Boston, valued at six hun- 
 U671
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 dred dollars, and secured a young man, who 
 had been in the Lynn plant which burned 
 out, to be typesetter and pressman. And so 
 the Dispatch started on its way again. 
 
 I had not ceased from the first to pay my 
 respects to my competitor, the "Little Octo- 
 pus," who published the opposition sheet. 
 And he, as well as the politicians, did not bear 
 my enterprise any good will. Early in the 
 spring I had expected to secure the printing of 
 the advertisements of the liquor license appli- 
 cations for the city, because the News, in a 
 spectacular excess of virtue, had made it a 
 policy never to take even so much of a liquor 
 advertisement as this. When I was just 
 about to print the names the News suddenly 
 repented, reversed its established policy, and 
 took the advertising. I commented on the 
 hypocrisy of its action, and one after another, 
 as I took up the instances of political mis- 
 [108]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 management, I called attention to the fact 
 that the News had not seen fit to tell the pub- 
 lic of them. 
 
 Finally, on Memorial Day, I made a flank 
 movement by taking away from the control of 
 the News the old newspaper I had originally 
 tried to buy from them the Gazette and 
 publishing it as an evening paper. 
 
 The thing was done very simply. 
 
 In the seven months I had been in Salem 
 the old Gazette had not been published. The 
 publisher of the News had let it die. I wrote 
 to the authorities in Washington, stating the 
 facts, and asking if there was anything to 
 prevent my publishing a Gazette. They re- 
 plied that there was not, and I came out with 
 both a morning and evening paper. 
 
 I celebrated this event with a flippant edi- 
 torial which did not tend to allay the irritation 
 caused by my move. I had two newspapers 
 [169]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 now in which to pay my respects to the politi- 
 cal gangs and the News. And in the mean- 
 time I was pounding them on all occasions in 
 the speech-making campaign I was begin- 
 ning to make as a candidate for mayor. 
 Two thirds of the daily newspapers in 
 Salem, I announced, favoured Howard for 
 mayor. 
 
 I soon began to find that my opponents 
 were far from inactive. They had sent de- 
 tectives to look up my whole career in New 
 York. The News never mentioned my name, 
 as a matter of policy; but Salem was flooded 
 with scandals about me. 
 
 In May I had an unpleasant experience. I 
 kept in the bottom drawer of my bureau, at 
 the boarding-house, three or four hundred 
 letters from my people in New York. They 
 were my one pleasant link with my old life, 
 and often on Sunday afternoons I used to take 
 [170]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 them out and read them. One Sunday after- 
 noon in May I opened the drawer and found 
 that the letters were gone. I went down- 
 stairs and asked "Ma" about them; where- 
 upon she burst into tears and said she knew 
 nothing about them. I went upstairs, threw 
 most of my few belongings into a bag, and left 
 the house. I had then and have still no doubt 
 that the letters in some way got into the hands 
 of my enemies. 
 
 After that I began to find that my letters 
 ad been opened when they reached me from 
 the post-office. There was every sign that I 
 was being watched on every side. 
 
 I hit back as hard blows as I knew how. I 
 had worked out now a regular formula for the 
 Dispatch. The features were a local story on 
 the front page, with a mastodonic headline, 
 often a single word which covered half the 
 page; an editorial directed against local
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 affairs; and a rhymed parody. As my cam- 
 paign for mayor advanced, my attacks on the 
 badly managed city government and the 
 political machine became more and more 
 direct and pointed. 
 
 [172]
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 I HAD two interesting callers the next 
 day, one of whom was a representative 
 of the telephone company. 
 "Good morning;" he said, "I am from the 
 telephone company with whom you signed a 
 contract a few days ago and our managers 
 told me to call and ask if you could give us 
 any 'recommends' in Salem. " 
 
 " 'Recommends' for what?" I asked. 
 "Well, we never heard of you before," he 
 said, " and we usually require ' recommends.' : 
 "Do you think I am dishonest?" I asked. 
 "Certainly not," he laughed, "in fact, we 
 know absolutely nothing about you. " 
 
 "That is more than I can say of your com- 
 pany," I rejoined. "I have heard several 
 [1731
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 things detrimental to your monopoly, such as 
 excess charges, your service, etc. " 
 
 "Yes," he broke in, "but it is a question 
 of money with us. We want to be sure 
 your bill is paid; so we either want a recom- 
 mend or a deposit of six dollars and fifty 
 cents." 
 
 "Is the telephone company hard up?" I 
 asked. :< What is your capital? " 
 
 "Our capital," said my caller, "is up in the 
 millions. " 
 
 "All water? "I asked. 
 
 "No, sir!" he replied, "bona fide assets." 
 
 "Then why the deuce do you want money 
 from me when you can see by surroundings 
 that I am hard up? Whom do I deposit the 
 money with?" I asked. 
 
 "Why," he replied, "with us." 
 
 "And pray," I asked, "what do you de- 
 posit?" 
 
 [174]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 "Nothing, of course;" he said, "we put in 
 the box and service. " 
 
 "Look here, my friend," I said, "I have 
 friends, but they are people whose friendship 
 I value. A man is judged by the company he 
 keeps. If I deposit real money with you I 
 keep you company, don't I? All my friends 
 have a pretty bad opinion of the telephone 
 company. You propose to take my six dollars 
 and fifty cents and in return I get a wooden 
 box, some wire with a sassy girl on the other 
 end. You put up six dollars and fifty cents 
 with some bank and I'll do the same so long 
 as we don't trust each other. " 
 
 His face flushed angrily and he said: "I 
 have never had any one talk so since I have 
 been connected with the company. " 
 
 "Because I am the only person that ever 
 told you people the truth," I replied as he 
 went out. 
 
 [175]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 I published the interview in my paper the 
 next day, and one hour after it came out the 
 telephone was installed. 
 
 My next caller was the gray-haired, all- 
 tobacco cigarette smoker that told me about 
 Bill my first day in Salem. His name was 
 Ben Reed. He stood during his call and 
 talked in his former jerky style. 
 
 "I'm glad your paper is getting along all 
 right. You have my best wishes. Your 
 knocks on the News and its owner are the stuff 
 we want. Damon never cared for any one and 
 nobody loves him so far as I can find out. 
 When your paper gets a little better head- 
 way the News will look like thirty pennies. 
 Damon looks proud and haughty going 
 through the streets in his automobile with 
 the bulldog on the seat with him, but 
 at heart he is a squealer, and when you 
 get him in a corner he'll squeal or run 
 [176]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 away; and when he runs, he runs a long 
 way. 
 
 "His paper lives on high-priced advertise- 
 ments, with about one local story a day. 
 The rest is done by some one with the scis- 
 sors, probably himself, for he can cut out 
 news and print it better than he can write it. 
 Cutting news from other papers ought to be 
 as easy for you as for him. 
 
 "His editorials are forever starting out, 
 'Our esteemed contemporary says' so and 
 so, and then he goes on giving us the same old 
 bunch of guff about capital punishment and 
 bringing flowers to condemned criminals that 
 we have been getting for years; but never a 
 word about Salem and its own problems. The 
 News has the cheapest paid and probably the 
 weakest staff of writers of any paper in New 
 England, and I hope you put the plant out of 
 business. 
 
 [177]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 "The cracks on the Electric Light and 
 Colonel Joe are all right too. Don't feel 
 badly because, as he says, he would not shake 
 hands with a 'Stinker.' He would and has 
 shaken hands with worse things, and if hands 
 could speak Joe would have to wear mittens 
 all the tune to muffle the sound from his. 
 
 "It won't do any harm to continue to give 
 his chum, Misty Mike, a few side ones. He is 
 posing as a theatrical manager and loafing 
 around all day in City Hall and fumbling 
 around the cubby holes in the Street Depart- 
 ment's roll-top desk. What Mike doesn't 
 know about the theatrical business would 
 stuff a good many ballot boxes. 
 
 "That gang in the City Hall needs a harder 
 cracking than you are giving them. There 
 seems to be a race between several of them to 
 see who can fill the cuspidor the first with 
 tobacco juice. The clerk in the Water Board 
 [178]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 office doesn't know whether he's coming or 
 going with the noise they make, and yet the 
 City Marshal comes in every day with his 
 gold badge and cut-rate clothes, and instead of 
 stopping the proceedings starts right in with 
 them by cutting off a piece of tobacco and 
 then the fun begins. The Chief of Police 
 would make a good constable for Bingville. 
 That's where he came from and that's where 
 he'll finally land, buttons, bill and breast pro- 
 tector, as Bill McSweeney would say to His 
 Honour at the City Court. 
 
 "I agree with you that Alderman Billy is a 
 misfit. He really thinks that he cuts ice, but 
 he only jabs at it with the ice pick, and his 
 work is a bungle. Well, the supply of gaso- 
 line that keeps his engine of bum oratory 
 going will shut off next December. It's been 
 hard to endure him. He sounds like a new 
 automobile on the road. As I listen to him hi 
 [179]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 City Hall and other places, he reminds me of a 
 bad imitator of national characters in a 
 vaudeville show. Billy as a City Father is 
 like a tall hat on most mayors and under- 
 takers. It's the right hat on the wrong block. 
 
 " I think you called most of the City Coun- 
 cil 'Noodles.' I don't know what 'Noodles' 
 are, but I know a bunch of fakirs when I see 
 them, and it seems to me as though a very good 
 proportion of the city government consisted 
 of just such a bunch. " 
 
 Ben Reed was famous for his unique philoso- 
 phy, and I have given his remarks in full as 
 I recall them, in order to show the opinion of 
 one who had lived in Salem all his life and of 
 the condition of affairs there. After that he 
 came in frequently, and many of his quaint 
 observations have found their way into the 
 columns of the Dispatch from time to time. 
 
 [180]
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 ON SATURDAY morning, July 10, 
 1909, I was returning to Salem from 
 Boston, where I had been to buy 
 some type. As I alighted from the train, a 
 little before ten o'clock, a policeman stepped 
 up to me and said: 
 
 "I've got a warrant for your arrest." 
 "What for? "I asked. 
 " Criminal libel, " he answered. 
 "Have you the warrant with you?" I asked 
 him. 
 
 "No," he answered; "but if you will come 
 over to the court I will show it to you. If you 
 will give me your word that you will meet me 
 there," he continued, "I will spare you the 
 odium of arrest. " 
 
 [1811
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 So I promised, went to the office and got the 
 paper out, and then went, with my associate, 
 Curtis, to the courthouse. I was called to the 
 bar, and arraigned on the charge of criminal 
 libel, preferred by Alderman Doyle. I asked 
 to see the complaint, and the clerk responded 
 that it had been locked up over Sunday. The 
 whole thing seemed strange to me, and I rose 
 and said to the judge : " Your Honour, how can 
 I plead if I don't know what is in the com- 
 plaint?" 
 
 The judge ordered it to be brought out. It 
 was about an article I had published on Doyle 
 the week before. Instead of being made by 
 Doyle himself, the complaint was made by 
 James B. Skinner, the assistant marshal of the 
 city. The two best-known lawyers in Salem, 
 Joseph F. Quinn and Michael L. Sullivan, 
 appeared for Doyle. Sullivan was the attor- 
 ney for the big liquor and corporation interests
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 and the legal adviser of Editor Damon of the 
 News. My case was set for Friday morning, 
 six days later; and when this was done the 
 attorneys for the prosecution insisted that 
 my bail be placed at twenty-five hundred 
 dollars. 
 
 I was without counsel myself; but I stepped 
 forward and said that that bail was unreason- 
 able and entirely out of my reach. It hap- 
 pened that on that very morning an Italian, 
 who was defended by one of the attorneys for 
 the prosecution, had been held for an assault 
 to kill under only one thousand dollar bonds. 
 I called the judge's attention, to the fact that 
 it was ridiculous to hold me on twenty-five 
 hundred dollars bonds when this man had been 
 released on one thousand dollars. At that 
 rate, I pointed out, I could afford to try and 
 kill two men and a boy for the same bail rate 
 as one was charged for writing an editorial 
 [183]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 on political conditions. The judge set my 
 bail at one thousand dollars and gave me 
 until Monday morning to procure it. 
 
 As soon as I left court I rushed to Boston to 
 see Mr. Peabody, but found him out of the city 
 on a long vacation. Curtis, my new associate, 
 who was with me, suggested that I call upon a 
 minister, formerly of Salem, who had made 
 serious charges against the political gangs in 
 Salem. When I saw him he advised me to 
 secure the best counsel in Boston. I went 
 from him to see Louis D. Brandeis. 
 
 When I met Mr. Brandeis I frankly told 
 him my history, -both in New York and Salem, 
 my disastrous experience in money matters in 
 the past, and my present lack of funds. After 
 hearing my story he said he would take my 
 case, notwithstanding my financial condi- 
 tion. "You need not worry about that," he 
 said. 
 
 [184]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 His unqualified advice to me was practi- 
 cally: "Go to jail." If I had the sand to do 
 this, he said, the result, in all probability, 
 would be worse for my persecutors than for 
 myself. 
 
 [185]
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 I WENT back to Salem, and brought out 
 in the Dispatch on Monday morning an 
 editorial entitled, "On the Way." It 
 ran like this: 
 
 Good-bye, boys. 
 
 Heard the news? 
 
 Our editor has been arrested. 
 
 Complaint was made by M. J. Doyle, alderman of 
 the city of Salem. The complaint is libel. 
 
 Messrs. Quinn and Sullivan are the attorneys for 
 Mr. Doyle. They are our two best and most expen- 
 sive lawyers. Now, Mr. Doyle told Alderman Cahill 
 several times that he would not spend one cent to 
 get after Howard. Some one else must have put up 
 the money. Who? "Colonel" Peterson, Damon, or 
 Mayor Hurley? We doubt very much if Mr. Doyle 
 would put up a cenU 
 
 The complaint says that Howard deprived Doyle of 
 his good name, fame, and reputation. Try as hard as 
 
 [186]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 he could, Mr. Howard could not help smiling as he 
 stood there in court listening to this complaint. 
 
 "What a beautiful world this is! How beautiful the 
 flowers are! How brilliantly the sun shines! And 
 how nice to walk abroad and breathe the fresh air! 
 And to think that on Monday we must bid good-bye 
 to all, and go down to jail! 
 
 We pounded out from eight to nine thou- 
 sand copies of the Dispatch, and they were on 
 the street at 5 A. M., selling like hot cakes. 
 I had three boys stationed outside of Editor 
 Damon's house and yelling at the top of their 
 voices : 
 
 "All about Doyle!" 
 
 At nine o'clock I appeared in the police 
 court alone. I had decided not to have any 
 lawyer in these preliminary proceedings. 
 
 "Are you prepared, Mr. Howard," said the 
 judge, "to give a bond of $1,000?" 
 
 "No, Your Honour," I said; "and I don't 
 know where I could get it. " 
 [187]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 Lawyer Sullivan sprang to his feet and said : 
 
 "This man has a wealthy father in New 
 York who could readily supply the bond. " 
 
 "Mr. Sullivan is more familiar with my 
 family," I said, "than I am with his." 
 
 "I will let you go on your own recognizance 
 again until to-morrow morning," said the 
 judge; "and I would advise you to communi- 
 cate with your father. " 
 
 I had no intention of bringing my father 
 into the matter. He was sailing for Europe, 
 I happened to know, the next morning at ten 
 o'clock. He was an old man, feeble, and in 
 need of rest, and I did not intend to worry him 
 with this affair of mine. He would have come 
 to my aid, I knew. He had been following 
 my efforts to reestablish myself for several 
 months, and I knew he had been pleased. 
 But I proposed to go alone. Besides, I had no 
 [188]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 fear for the final outcome of my case I 
 knew where I stood; and I served notice of 
 that fact in an editorial in the next morning's 
 Dispatch which I called 
 
 AS OUR CONSCIENCE DIRECTS 
 
 We want to say for the benefit of all grafters and 
 politicians, and the public in general, that nothing has 
 ever been said in the Dispatch that did not have our 
 most careful consideration. The editorials and articles 
 have each and every one been based upon what we be- 
 lieve, and after careful investigation have felt posi- 
 tively certain, to be solid facts. And we would like to 
 impress upon all the fact that we have no personal 
 spite against any individual. It is the system which is 
 in vogue in this city that we are against. 
 
 On Tuesday morning I went before the 
 court again, and asked the judge to hold me 
 for appearance before the court on Friday 
 under my own recognizance. I did not own 
 one thousand dollars' worth of property, I 
 told him, and I did not believe, while carrying 
 [189]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 out a public work in my newspaper, that I 
 ought to put myself under an obligation to 
 any one. I was only accused of a misde- 
 meanour; I had already shown that I would 
 not run away; and, if he chose, he could very 
 properly hold me in this way. 
 
 The judge seemed quite upset when he 
 heard that I had not secured bail, and asked: 
 
 "Haven't you communicated with your 
 father, Mr. Howard?" 
 
 "Oh!" I said, jumping to my feet, as if I 
 had forgotten all about it. "Yes, Your Honour. 
 I have communicated with my father and I 
 have got some good news. My father sailed 
 for Europe this morning. It has been several 
 years since he has been away, and the vacation 
 can't help doing him good." 
 
 The judge looked very much surprised. 
 The lawyers for the prosecution whispered 
 together and consulted with the judge; and 
 1180]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 finally the judge said that he would let me go 
 until two o 'clock so I could raise my bail in 
 Salem. 
 
 All I had to do, I felt sure, was to leave 
 town during one of these respites that were 
 given me, and the whole thing would be 
 ended. What my enemies wanted was to get 
 me out of Salem. 
 
 Early in the afternoon I came into court 
 again, and told the judge I did not want to 
 get any Salem people on my bonds. I would 
 rather go to jail than do this. 
 
 "And, by the way," I said, "Alderman 
 Doyle is the man who is sending me to jail, 
 and he doesn't seem to be in court this morn- 
 ing. In fact, he hasn't been in court any 
 day." 
 
 The lawyers began an elaborate explan- 
 ation of Doyle's absence; and finally the judge 
 cleared the court and called the assistant 
 [191]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 marshal the man who had been complain- 
 ant for Doyle in the matter to take me to 
 jail. ' 
 
 The assistant marshal came over to me and 
 said: "You are foolish, Howard, not to let 
 some of these people go your bail. There are 
 three or four people in this room who would do 
 it; I have heard them say so." 
 
 Then I got up and cried at the top of my 
 voice: 
 
 " I think it is a perfect outrage, when a man 
 is perfectly willing to go to jail, that every one 
 should try to stop him. " 
 
 The assistant marshal began to pound on 
 the desk, and called on one of the inspectors 
 to take me. So we started in a leisurely 
 manner for jail. 
 
 I bought some magazines, and went into a 
 restaurant with the inspector and had lunch; 
 then we strolled toward the jail. As we went 
 [192]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 along we passed the liquor-dealer mayor, with 
 his resplendent silk hat perched over one ear 
 and his silky side-whiskers, walking home to 
 luncheon. He smiled with the utmost genial- 
 ity, waved his hand affably, and passed on. 
 
 Curtis dropped into the post-office and 
 brought me a farewell letter from my father; 
 and finally we arrived at the jail. I smoked a 
 farewell cigar in the sheriff's room, and in the 
 middle of the afternoon I found myself an 
 inmate of cell 45. 
 
 I had been there only a short time when the 
 cell-keeper came down and told me there was 
 a little boy who wanted to see me. I was 
 allowed to step into an anteroom; and there 
 was Johnny, my newsboy. He bore with him 
 a box of ice cream, as an expression of his per- 
 sonal feeling, and he assured me that he would 
 be outside in case I needed him. So I showed 
 him where my cell was, and he said he would 
 [193]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 be across the street, and take a look at me 
 occasionally. Finally the cell-keeper came in 
 and put him out much against his will. 
 
 My arrest was a local sensation, of course, 
 and as soon as I reached jail I told Curtis to 
 print the following notice in the centre of a 
 blank editorial column of the evening paper 
 the Gazette: 
 
 Editor Howard is in jail. As soon as the authori- 
 ties give him paper and pencil, he will send us an 
 ditorial. 
 
 The next morning, Wednesday, I printed as 
 my first page leader a jocose statement of my 
 situation, headed: 
 
 IN JAIL A FEW PERT REMARKS BY 
 NO. 45 
 
 I am the guest of Mr. Essex County, board free. I 
 am afraid I am too much of a gentleman to find fault 
 with my host, but I do think Mr. Essex County should 
 employ more servants. 
 
 [194]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 My bed is the worst made I ever saw, and all be- 
 cause I make it myself. If Mr. Essex County wanted 
 a newspaper edited I might be able to accommodate 
 him, but when it comes to making beds, I am afraid 
 that kind of business is not in my line. I also dislike 
 this early bell at 5 :45 A. M. It annoys me. Why do 
 they call me early, when I am on a vacation? 
 
 Speaking of beds, my mattress and pillow feel as if 
 they were stuffed with knotted rope. 
 
 It seems that the rooms here are called cells. There 
 are no bellboys no electric bells to summon a ser- 
 vant. And I am no longer Editor Howard: I am 
 just 45. 
 
 My trunk has not arrived. Stupid express com- 
 pany. 
 
 Think of sleeping without pajamas for the first 
 time in twenty years. Awful nuisance! 
 
 Last night the moon had a golden ring, 
 
 To-night no moon I see. 
 And the Editor sadly lay on his cot; 
 
 "It's beastly slow," said he. 
 
 In my editorial I explained my position. 
 
 Many people expected that if our editor was put in 
 jail there would come such an outburst of wrath and 
 
 [195]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 indignation from him as never appeared before in 
 print. 
 
 But Mr. Howard does not get excited. Mr. Howard 
 has no desire to pose as a martyr or a hero; he just has 
 his convictions and sticks to them. 
 
 Now that we are here in cell No. 45, it is time to be 
 calm, cool, and collective. It is not the time to rush 
 wildly into print, and try the case in our own paper. 
 Now is the time when one's nerves must be of steel; 
 there must be no wavering. The truth will prevail, 
 and the man that dares to do right will win. 
 
 What's the use of getting excited over it all? Just 
 wait and see. 
 
 What's the use of getting busy, when there's not much 
 
 you can do? 
 What's the use of rushing wildly, when rest is best for 
 
 you? 
 What's the use of being a Damon, and running far 
 
 away? 
 Why not be a chap like Howard? If you're in the 
 
 game just stay? 
 What's the use of having a paper if it isn't known at 
 
 all? 
 What's the use of waiting for excitement? Isn't 
 
 summer as good as fall? 
 [196]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 What's the good of having jails, if there's none to put 
 
 in there? 
 What's the use of running for council why not run 
 
 for mayor? 
 
 Curtis was in charge at the Dispatch office, 
 pushing out all the newspapers he could print. 
 There was no doubt the public was with us. 
 In the meantime I was getting interesting 
 information in the jail. Knowing that I was 
 in for attacking the political gang the other 
 prisoners told me tales of them. Curiously 
 enough, the man in the next cell to me was a 
 fellow who bewailed the fact that he was in 
 confinement for illegal liquor selling, when the 
 man who was really responsible was the silk- 
 hatted mayor of the city, who had suavely 
 greeted me as I walked to jail. 
 
 My next editorial was entitled " More News 
 from 45," and ran as follows: 
 
 Speaking of money. We don't use it in here. Quite 
 a convenience for us. That, probably, is why Damon 
 beat it instead of going to jail. Brother Damon loves 
 
 [197]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 money, and to miss handling it would be too much of a 
 privation for him. 
 
 By the way, visitors are allowed. Where is Damon? 
 Here is hisopportunity to show there is no ill will. Let 
 him motor down and ask for No. 45 and come in and 
 say, "Hello, Howard, I am Damon. Can I do any- 
 thing for you?" And we would say, "Hello, Old Bluff. 
 Where is the Colonel? Couldn't he come? " Well, well, 
 that is a fine joke, and all our own, too. 
 
 So Jack Cahill is out of town! Dear, dear, Jack is a 
 good fellow! He means well, but, bless your heart, 
 there was no need of his going away. 
 
 Jack never told us anything; in fact, we put him 
 "wise" several times. 
 
 How this jail business does take the pride out of 
 one! We certainly thought that the Dispatch would 
 go to the bow-wows if we left the office for an hour; and 
 now it sells better than ever. Wonder why? 
 
 This place will not suit us for the summer. We can 
 see that its location is good that it is built high 
 enough to get the air and that it is in every way 
 secure; but the crowd that run it are a bunch of rub- 
 
 [198]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 bernecks. They are too much interested in the 
 boarders always watching them and reading their 
 letters. 
 
 The life in jail did not agree with me very 
 well. It was a good enough jail, I suppose, as 
 jails go; but it was of stone and the walls were 
 damp, and by the second evening I was there 
 I was suffering from an attack of rheumatism 
 which was decidedly painful. I celebrated 
 this fact in an editorial on Thursday afternoon 
 on "Reading, Rheumatism and Restlessness 
 Describing the Occupation and Preoccu- 
 pation of My Life in Cell 45. " 
 
 THE THREE R'S 
 
 The thing that annoys us about being in this jail 
 is the lack of respect shown. Isn't it natural to suppose 
 that a person in jail is a hardened sinner or a deep- 
 dyed villain? We always thought so; but here it 
 seems different; every one seems to think it a huge 
 joke. There is a broad grin on every side and no one 
 seems to feel the least bit sorry for us. 
 
 [199]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 There are three R's in jail as well as in school. They 
 are: "Reading, Rheumatism and Restlessness." We 
 have read until our eyes are sore; everything from the 
 Twenty-third Psalm down to the Annual Report of the 
 City of Salem. The Twenty- third Psalm is the finest 
 thing ever written; the Annual Report of the City of 
 
 Salem is No you don't, now; you can't catch us; we 
 
 don't want to go to jail again. Just you read it and guess. 
 
 The smallness of our cell makes us Restless. Lions 
 can pace their cages, but we cannot pace this cell. 
 The thing is too small. This all leads to Restlessness. 
 No exercise is allowed. We read; we write; we sit; we 
 stand; we think; we gaze out; we eat; and we smile. 
 Then we do it all over again. Restlessness it gets 
 on a fellow's nerves. 
 
 Rheumatism a thin specimen of humanity has 
 no right to select a brick or stone cell to sleep in; there 
 is dampness in all such buildings and it gets in the 
 system. If there is any bone in our miserable body 
 that does not ache with Rheumatism we cannot find it. 
 
 If we did not have the Rheumatism and did not feel 
 so Restless the Reading and Rest would be a change. 
 
 That afternoon the sheriff came into the cell 
 and took all my newspapers and magazines 
 [200]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 away, leaving me only my writing materials. 
 When I saw him passing by an hour afterward 
 I asked him if prisoners were not allowed to 
 have the Bible, and he brought me one im- 
 mediately. After looking it over for an hour, 
 I wrote the following little editorial: 
 
 A WARNING TO THE RING 
 
 Peradventure, saith the Lord, if there be five good 
 men, I will save the city. 
 
 The wicked dig a pit for the good man, and fall into 
 it themselves. Oh, ye hypocrites and sinners! 
 
 When I handed this copy of the editorial 
 to the Sheriff to give to the boy from the 
 office, he read it over carefully, as he did 
 everything I sent out. It reached the office 
 about 4:30 in the afternoon and they brought 
 out an extra. Half an hour after the extra 
 came out, all the newspapers, magazines and 
 books were restored to me and I commenced 
 on Friday morning's editorial. Six or seven 
 [201]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 times I was allowed out of my cell to walk up 
 and down the corridor, and I was allowed to 
 talk to the prisoners. Without going into de- 
 tail I can say here that I got more informa- 
 tion about the political ring in Salem in three 
 days inside the jail than in months outside. 
 
 On Thursday afternoon, after I had sent 
 out my editorial, I was suffering so from 
 rheumatism that I had them telephone a doc- 
 tor I knew, to come to see me. The Sheriff 
 refused to allow me to have my doctor and 
 insisted that I see the one regularly employed 
 by the jail. When he came he prescribed 
 some medicine for me and told me that I 
 should be transferred upstairs into the hospi- 
 tal. I refused to go up to the hospital and 
 told the Sheriff and doctor I would not take 
 the medicine unless I had my own doctor. 
 The next morning my case was called in 
 court. 
 
 [202]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 As I left the jail, I noticed a little boy 
 asleep on the steps. It was Johnny. He had 
 been there all night. 
 
 The hearing was very brief. My lawyer 
 from Mr. Brandeis's office was now present. 
 We waived examination, and the case was put 
 over to the Grand Jury. Sanborn put up a 
 piece of real estate; Ed Allen put up two 
 hundred dollars in cash; and I returned to the 
 Dispatch office to continue my newspaper 
 work, and to hammer on my campaign for 
 mayor. 
 
 [203]
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 A3UT a week or ten days after I had 
 got out of jail, I was at work in the 
 tiny office of the Dispatch when a 
 stranger came in. I looked up and saw a 
 very small man, surmounted by a silk hat, 
 standing in the middle of the floor. 
 
 "My name is Hunt," said the small man in 
 an excited voice, "and I have been sued for 
 libel." 
 
 "Well, I didn't do it, did I?" said I. 
 It was a mystery to me; I had never seen the 
 man before. 
 
 "This is serious business," said the little 
 man. "I am the Mayor of Newburyport, 
 and I may have to go to jail. " 
 
 I found out then that he had come down to 
 [204]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 get my advice as an expert defendant in libel 
 suits. My trial and imprisonment had been 
 in all the Boston papers, and I had been widely 
 advertised by my fight with the political ring. 
 
 "I am sick of the whole thing," said the 
 Mayor of Newburyport. "I'd sell you my 
 paper cheap. " 
 
 I was as hard up as ever. The Dispatch had 
 never made both ends meet though it had 
 grown to a big circulation because it car- 
 ried practically no advertising. I was as 
 willing to take a chance in Newburyport as I 
 had been in Salem. Libel suits had lost their 
 terrors for me. So Hunt's offer interested me. 
 
 His sheet, the Newburyport Item, would 
 bring me sixty dollars a week, he said, and he 
 would take thirty-five hundred dollars for it. 
 
 I arranged with him to pay him for his plant 
 and paper in this way: fifty dollars down for 
 the newspaper, and thirty-five hundred dollars 
 [205]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 for his plant in notes of seventy dollars, due 
 every week until the whole sum was paid. 
 At the end of that period the plant would be 
 mine. 
 
 Now, if the Item would earn sixty dollars a 
 week, and I had to pay him seventy dollars, I 
 would need to raise only ten dollars a week to 
 buy the plant. I took the offer. As security, 
 Hunt demanded and got a majority of the 
 stock of the new corporation I was forming to 
 take over the Dispatch. 
 
 For two weeks I got out a paper in New- 
 buryport, together with two in Salem, and 
 incidentally promoted my campaign for mayor 
 of Salem, vibrating rapidly between the two 
 cities. 
 
 Before this time was up I found that the 
 
 Newburyport Item earned far less than the 
 
 sixty dollars I had counted on. A good share 
 
 of the advertising had been taken by Mr. 
 
 [206]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 Hunt, who was a married man, in groceries 
 and clothing, which helped me very little. 
 Such matters as a contract for three dollars a 
 week in services from a woman's hairdresser 
 had no very tangible value to me. 
 
 I had carried the Item as far as I could go. 
 If it did not earn sixty dollars a week I could 
 not pay seventy. 
 
 At the end of the first week, when my note 
 came due, Mr. Hunt was away on a vacation; 
 at the end of the second week he appeared in 
 my office demanding the payment of my two 
 weekly notes which were now due. 
 
 That day it was Saturday, August 14, 
 1909 was one of unusual interest for me. 
 At ten o'clock the Mayor of Newburyport 
 appeared for payment of his two notes. I 
 explained to him as best I could, in breaks in 
 his conversation, that I couldn't possibly pay 
 him; I didn't have the money. He went out 
 [207]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 of my office threatening vengeance. He was 
 a very excitable man. At eleven o'clock I 
 passed along the street and saw him sitting 
 in the office of my wealthy competitor, Damon 
 of the News. 
 
 Early that afternoon I was arrested again 
 for criminal libel this time by Damon. 
 For a while it looked as if this warrant of my 
 competitor, which had been sworn out on 
 Thursday and was not served until Saturday 
 afternoon, would keep me in jail over Sunday. 
 I thought, however, of a local liquor dealer, 
 Daniel T. Haggerty a good hater of the 
 News and a man famous locally for helping the 
 "under dog'* and he came to my help with 
 eight hundred dollars bail. 
 
 So Sunday I didn't stay in jail. But on 
 Monday my troubles started in promptly with 
 the business week. In the morning the fore- 
 man at the Newburyport plant told me, by 
 [208]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 telephone, that Mr. Hunt had taken it back 
 and forbade me the premises. That broke 
 my contract to buy his plant, but left me 
 owner of the Newburyport newspaper. It 
 stood me fifty dollars in cash, and the hundred 
 and forty dollars still due for the two weeks in 
 which I ran the plant. 
 
 That afternoon I began to hear rumours that 
 my rival Damon owned control of my own 
 newspaper, the Dispatch, and that finally he 
 had me cornered. 
 
 What had really happened was what I 
 suspected when I saw Hunt with Damon. 
 Hunt had taken to Damon the stock in my 
 new Maine company which I had given him as 
 collateral when I gave him notes for his news- 
 paper plant. I had formed this Maine cor- 
 poration to take my newspaper from the 
 Massachusetts company which held it first. 
 A company under Massachusetts laws could 
 [209]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 have no shares of less than ten dollars, and I 
 went to Maine to get the right to issue shares 
 of a dollar, so that I could get small subscrip- 
 tions from people who could afford to take a 
 chance with a dollar or two, but not ten. 
 
 But Damon hadn't cornered me quite yet; 
 for my property hadn't been transferred yet to 
 the Maine corporation. All that Hunt had to 
 sell was certificates in the shell corporation, 
 which had no assets or contents. 
 
 Finally they discovered this, and Mr. Hunt 
 went back to his printing plant in Newbury- 
 port, leaving Damon and me to fight it out 
 alone he with his libel suit and I with 
 my struggling newspaper. That fall Hunt 
 shipped his plant to Kansas. He left Newbury- 
 port before his term of mayor really expired. 
 What became of his libel suit, which drove him 
 across my field of activity in Salem, I never 
 knew. I afterward paid him the hundred and 
 [210]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 forty dollars with interest. But from that 
 time on my own troubles furnished a con- 
 tinuous occupation for my mind. 
 
 One night, during these weeks of excitement 
 which followed my release from jail, I had a 
 setback of an unexpected nature. I lost my 
 affidavit concerning the big political graft in 
 Salem which had been given me by Ned Bates.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 I WAS alone in my office. There was a 
 chill in the air and I lighted a fire 
 in the stove. Sitting before it I was 
 thinking of my trial yet to come. The affi- 
 davit made by Ned Bates was in the inside 
 pocket of my vest. I always carried it there 
 for safety. 
 
 The door downstairs opened and two people 
 came up, passed through the outer office and 
 came into my little room. I recognized Mrs. 
 Bates and her little daughter Nellie. 
 "I am Mrs. Bates," she said. 
 I arose and gave her a seat. The little girl 
 went over in the corner and sat on a bundle of 
 papers. She was a frail little girl with large, 
 dark eyes. 
 
 [212]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 After seating herself Mrs. Bates turned to 
 me and said: 
 
 :< You have a confession from Mr. Bates 
 about the paving deal, haven't you?" 
 
 "Yes, "I replied. 
 
 "Will you give it to me?" she asked. 
 
 "I could not," I replied firmly. 
 
 "Why?" she asked nervously. 
 
 " Because I am going to use it, " I answered. 
 
 "In what way?" she asked. 
 
 "I don't know yet," I replied. 
 
 " You are not going to publish it, are you?" 
 she asked, almost in terror. Nellie began to 
 cry. 
 
 "Probably," I replied. "But that need 
 not trouble you. It will not get Mr. Bates 
 into trouble. " 
 
 "But how about Nellie and me?" she asked. 
 
 "You are all right," I answered. 
 
 "We won't be all right if you print such a 
 [213]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 story," she answered. "It would ruin us 
 forever. " 
 
 I sat silent. Nellie was still crying quietly. 
 
 "Will you give it to me?" Mrs. Bates 
 repeated. 
 
 " Really, " I replied, " that would be impossi- 
 ble. It is part of my defence in my libel suit. " 
 
 "And incidentally will elect you mayor," 
 she interrupted. 
 
 "That is not the object," I replied. 
 
 "Then why use it?" she asked. "It is no 
 crime to forget." 
 
 "That is not the question," I answered. 
 "It will not get Mr. Bates in trouble, but it 
 will correct the system that exists of a few 
 people robbing the many. " 
 
 "Why should you do that?" she asked. 
 
 "Because it is my duty," I replied. 
 
 "Your duty! Your duty!" she almost 
 screamed. "And who are you that talks 
 [214]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 duty? Have you always done your duty? 
 Did you do your duty when you deceived 
 your father? If you always did your duty, 
 would you be here to-day away from your 
 family and away from your friends? You're 
 a fine one to preach duty here. " 
 
 The little girl was staring at me with her 
 big eyes, an occasional tremor going through 
 her frame. 
 
 I got up from my seat and paced the floor. 
 How could I get rid of her? How could I 
 calm her? I must be firm. 
 
 "Well? "she asked. 
 
 "I am sorry," I said, "but I must refuse 
 
 vou." 
 
 "The Dispatch says the time to be sorry is 
 before you do a thing," she said sharply. 
 
 I could not reply. The little girl was 
 sobbing. 
 
 "It's cruel of you," she said, "very cruel of 
 [215]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 you to harm Nellie and me just to further your 
 ambitions. It's a shame to make us suffer. 
 You claim to be honorable, but you don't 
 hesitate to take advantage of a man who is 
 drunk. I think it is contemptible on your part 
 and hard and unjust on us who are defenseless. 
 When I married Ned he was a good man, he 
 did not drink, did not lie, did not take what 
 did not belong to him, but politics ruined him; 
 ruined him and will ruin us. I don't care! 
 I don't care! I married him for better or for 
 worse and I'm going to stick by him no matter 
 what he does. He's my Ned and I love him. " 
 A film seemed to come in front of my eyes. 
 I could see far, far away. There was my old 
 father with the tears in his eyes, saying he 
 could do no more for me. It was but the act 
 of a moment to tear open my vest. It took 
 but a second to thrust the paper in the stove. 
 The fire seemed to be waiting for it and the 
 [216]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 flame licked it up. I sank in my seat and my 
 head dropped on my arm. 
 
 Mrs. Bates rose slowly and started for the 
 door with Nellie. She did not say a word, 
 but as she passed me she laid her hand lightly 
 on my shoulder. 
 
 I heard them go to the stairs and heard 
 Mrs. Bates start to descend. Suddenly there 
 was a rush toward me, two little arms were 
 thrown around my neck, and a face wet with 
 tears was pressed to mine. 
 
 [217]
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THERE are some things you can't tell 
 your friends. Ed and Bill would not 
 understand. I don't understand my- 
 self. We have our moments that we do such 
 things. The world says they are foolish. 
 Perhaps they are. I am just a human being 
 after all and any one in my position would 
 have done the same. So I did not tell even 
 Curtis. I simply took up my work and went 
 steadily on. 
 
 I was invited to speak before two church 
 clubs, and a literary society. I talked good 
 government and was well listened to. Mean- 
 time I was pouring hot shot into the Colonel and 
 Damon. Alderman Doyle I left alone. I had 
 him. Already the Board of Aldermen were after 
 [218]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 the Chief of Police, and the News was tangled 
 up defending all my opponents* misdeeds. I 
 had them all guessing. What did I know? 
 When would the next explosion take place? 
 It always seemed to me that the average 
 newspaper carried so-called muck-raking too 
 far. Don't misunderstand me. I used the 
 word muck-raking as the average reader 
 knows it. I did not consider myself a muck- 
 raker, but I was fully aware that I would 
 shortly be so styled. My contention was 
 that the case of Salem required a surgeon's 
 knife, not some mild medicine. To arouse 
 the voter it is necessary to use strong words, 
 but at the same time, the greatest effect will 
 be made by contrast. Therefore, I should 
 praise some man, not damn all. Among the 
 members of the Board of Aldermen was a 
 man named Rufus D. Adams. He was super- 
 intendent of a Sunday School. Mr. Adams, 
 [2191
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 in the opinion of the average citizen, was a 
 highly respectable gentlemen. Certain it was 
 that he was honest. In my opinion he was 
 not over-burdened with brains. However, he 
 had a good face, was easy in manner and 
 looked a good man to bolster up. His honesty, 
 in my opinion, would counterbalance his weak 
 nature. And so I decided to feature Mr. 
 Adams up. He was the best one in the city 
 government and it would prevent any one 
 from saying that I slammed everybody. A lit- 
 tle newspaper praise and we had him walking 
 with his chest expanded. He was easy to 
 flatter, and the prominence given his honesty 
 made him anxious to fill the role we had 
 selected for him. If Mr. Adams asked a 
 question about some order in the Board of 
 Aldermen, we put a big heading on it and 
 called attention to his honest efforts to look 
 out for the city. 
 
 [220]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 Strange words these, are they not? But 
 remember the game I was up against. Adams 
 never deceived me for a moment. I knew he 
 was like putty, and I realized that if the ring 
 ever half tried, they could make him do as 
 they wished, but by featuring him up I put 
 him in the spotlight and made it impossible 
 for them to manipulate him. 
 
 I dug up a little horse deal in which Adams 
 had asked some questions of the dealer. I 
 used big type and wrote it up strongly, in- 
 sinuating that Alderman Adams had put his 
 foot down hard. All this was a bit risky, for 
 the people might select Adams as a candidate 
 for mayor, but I took the chance that the 
 average man does not do much thinking. 
 And so, behold Alderman Adams, the champion 
 of Good Government, made so by the power 
 of the press. 
 
 It was just at this time that a man came to 
 [221]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 me with a whole page advertisement. We set 
 up eight proofs for him before we pleased him. 
 Finally it came out and he came down to our 
 office and paid his bill and said that he had had 
 such good returns that he wanted to pay 
 something extra and gave me a ten-dollar 
 gold piece, which I put in my inside pocket 
 and kept for reserve. 
 
 It was Old Home Week and the city govern- 
 ment was going to give a series of entertain- 
 ments which took the form of a parade, a 
 celebration on a battleship in the harbour and 
 a big dinner. The Dispatch was forgotten 
 when the invitations were sent out and I 
 criticised the entertainment committee se- 
 verely for their action. Colonel Peterson was 
 at the head of the entertainment committee, 
 so I don't suppose he felt that he could con- 
 sider having me around. 
 
 On the third day of the celebration the 
 [22]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 children from the Orphan Asylum were taken 
 down to the shore with the intention of 
 showing them over the battleship. There 
 were two hundred of them and they had been 
 there about an hour when I arrived. One of 
 the alderman, who was in wrong with the 
 political ring, came over to me and said: "It is 
 a perfect outrage; they're having a big cele- 
 bration on board the boat with wine and cigars, 
 and these children were brought down here, 
 and as the city government have arrived 
 they cannot take the children on board, and it 
 looks pretty bad to see them standing over 
 there alone. 
 
 "If I had ten dollars," he said, "I would 
 blow them to some peanuts and ice 
 
 cream. " 
 
 "And so would I," I replied, walking down 
 to the shore to take a look at the battle- 
 ship. 
 
 [223]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 There seemed something familiar about 
 ten dollars, and suddenly there flashed through 
 my mind that I had the ten-dollar gold piece 
 in my inside pocket, and I went over to the 
 restaurant and asked the man how much he 
 would charge to supply two hundred plates 
 of ice cream and a bag of peanuts each for 
 the children, and he said fourteen dollars. I 
 told him I had only ten dollars, but I would 
 owe him four dollars. He said he would do it 
 for ten dollars, and I went over to the Sisters 
 who were gathered in a group, undecided 
 what to do, and I said to them: 
 
 "I am Mr. Howard of the Dispatch and I 
 have heard that there has been some disar- 
 rangement of the plans for the children. If 
 you will have them go up into the pavilion, I 
 will treat them all to ice cream and pea- 
 nuts." 
 
 They marched the children in and they were 
 [224]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 served with ice cream and peanuts while I 
 stood in the background with the alderman 
 "who was in wrong" and watched them. A 
 ten-dollar gold piece spent that way gives 
 better satisfaction than ten dollars to a head 
 waiter in New York who owns plenty of real 
 estate. "A fool and his money are soon 
 parted," perhaps, but I am not sorry. I can 
 hear the voices of the children to-day say- 
 ing, "It's ice cream," "and peanuts, too." 
 Things have a way of evening up in this world. 
 Johnny brought ice cream to me in jail, his 
 treat. Why shouldn't I treat some one that 
 was worse off than I? 
 
 The hearing in my second libel suit came. 
 It was upon eight counts, based upon articles 
 I had printed concerning Damon and his 
 paper. In almost every way it was like the 
 case brought in the name of Alderman Doyle. 
 The same attorneys appeared. The com- 
 [225]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 plaint was brought, not by the complainant, 
 but by another minor official in the police 
 department. The plaintiff, as in the other 
 case, failed to appear against me. The Police 
 Inspector testified that he had read the items 
 in the Dispatch about Mr. Damon, kept track 
 of them for months for the safety of the city, 
 and now swore out the complaint on his own 
 initiative, without any suggestions from any 
 one else. The witnesses were just the same 
 as in the Doyle case. I was bound over, as 
 in the other case, to the Grand Jury this 
 time under eight hundred dollars, which was 
 furnished by Dan Haggerty, the same man 
 who put up for me when the complaint was 
 first made four days before. 
 
 I had no fear of Damon or his libel suit. 
 In the first issue after my arrest, I left out 
 my editorial and placed in its column the 
 words: 
 
 [226]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 "THOSE WHOM THE GODS WOULD DE- 
 STROY THEY FIRST MAKE MAD" 
 
 The next day I printed the following edi- 
 torial : 
 
 We have been very naughty. We have been a dis- 
 obedient child. We have hurt a sensitive plant. 
 
 Isn't it too bad? 
 
 And now it turns and says, "I don't want to play 
 in your yard, I don't like you any more," and then 
 spends a lot of money getting after a "poor editor." 
 
 Were you there yesterday? 
 
 Did you hear what a terrible crea ure this Howard 
 is? Why it took two expensive men to tell what a 
 wicked little pen he has. 
 
 Do you believe any one cares what one editor says 
 about the other? 
 
 When a man rushes to law he rushes to madness. 
 We thought and still think that a man who cannot 
 take a joke is a zero. 
 
 We told our tale of woe to a big Boston lawyer and 
 he said that in his opinion we were both guilty. 
 
 No one takes it seriously when one rival sues another. 
 Place a diamond between two jewellers. One will 
 
 [227]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 say it is fine, and the other that it is not. Which 
 knows? Which is wrong? 
 
 We think the Dispatch is the best paper published. 
 Thirty-seven thousand nine hundred and sixty-two 
 other editors think theirs is the best. Once in a while 
 we say little things about one another. If we all got 
 mad the courts would be choked with business. 
 
 Sensitive plants are all right in the garden, but they 
 perish in the city. 
 
 One flea will make a dog just as wild as twen y fleas. 
 
 This second suit created more excitement 
 than the first. There were five hundred 
 people hi the court room at the time of the 
 trial. My circulation jumped up again to 
 seven or eight thousand copies, and from 
 every indication the sympathy of the public 
 was with me. My campaign for mayor 
 went on with renewed success. 
 
 [228]
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 NOT long after that my father returned 
 from Europe, and wrote to me that 
 he would like to see me. He asked 
 me to come halfway to New York to meet 
 him. I went down one Sunday and met him 
 in New London, where we talked for two hours. 
 He had not heard of either of my arrests, 
 and was a little troubled when I told him 
 about them. I told him they didn't amount 
 to anything; but he suggested that he would 
 make some kind of settlement, and offered 
 me a small amount of money if I would go 
 away and live quietly somewhere else. I told 
 him I proposed to stay and fight the thing out 
 where I was, and he acquiesced. 
 
 We both noticed the change in each other, I 
 [229]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 think. He had grown very old and feeble, and 
 said he would probably never see me again. 
 When we parted I thought him a very pathetic 
 figure. Every day after that until election 
 day I received a letter from my father every 
 morning, and every letter contained a five- 
 dollar bill. 
 
 In the middle of September the Grand Jury 
 met. Damon rode over to the court house on 
 the first day; but Doyle left for Rhode Island. 
 There was a good deal of excitement over this, 
 and the District Attorney threatened to throw 
 the case out of court. That morning Damon 
 was telephoning around to find Doyle and get 
 him to the court house. That night Doyle 
 returned from Rhode Island. 
 
 I came out with scare headlines in my paper 
 
 the next day, saying that Damon had brought 
 
 Doyle back to save the suits. That morning 
 
 the District Attorney brought the two cases 
 
 [230]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 before the Grand Jury, and they found indict- 
 ments against me on both counts. 
 
 The next morning I came out with an edi- 
 torial which I called: 
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF RIGHT 
 
 There are times when the poor man must not only 
 fight, but must fight hard for existence when the 
 concentrated money powers do all in their power to 
 wipe him out of existence. It is then that the powerful 
 corporations, with their bulging pockets of gold, 
 lavishly contribute to crush the weak. This is a pathetic 
 time for the poor; a time when courage is needed; a 
 time when a man must stand up and, single-handed, 
 watch the Octopus approach; see its devouring, grasp- 
 ing, relentless mouth smacking its lips in expectation. 
 
 Poverty has indeed its sorrow; poverty has indeed 
 its troubles; but every setback to the man with a pur- 
 pose is only an incentive to harder work and more 
 determination. 
 
 The man who fights for the people must expect to 
 have the corporations and the wealthy, the wrong- 
 doer, and the politicians against him. He must face 
 the "combine," the "system," and the "ring," and 
 expect the concentration of capital against him. 
 [231]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 My associate editor, Curtis, was indicted 
 with me by the Grand Jury, and before he 
 could find bail was compelled to go to jail for a 
 short time. Through my paper I demanded 
 an early trial and it was expected in the second 
 week in October. 
 
 Just before the Superior Court adjourned 
 hi the middle of the month my case was 
 called, and again Damon came into promi- 
 nence. The Doyle case had been started over 
 a month before Damon's, and now the Damon 
 case was called up first. It was an extraordi- 
 nary thing, and naturally attracted attention. 
 Mr. Doyle was very clearly not anxiously 
 pushing his case; and Damon and his 
 attorney, Sullivan, were more and more 
 conspicuous. 
 
 But the Damon case was merely called, and 
 then went over for several months before the 
 trial, as the court immediately adjourned. 
 [232]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 As for me, at the time my case was called I 
 was in the hospital for political reasons. 
 
 Among the first of the politicians whom I 
 attacked in Salem were the McSweeney 
 brothers, who, second only to Attorney Sulli- 
 van, Damon's lawyer, made political and 
 business capital out of the liquor business. 
 The extraordinary adroitness with which they 
 handled this main asset of theirs I had cele- 
 brated early in my editorial: 
 
 BOTH SIDES AND THE MIDDLE 
 
 The other day we wandered into an office where the 
 sign in front read " Attorney s-at-Law," and we asked 
 the girl if Mr. McSweeney was in. 
 
 "What do you want to see him about?" she said. 
 
 "Why, what difference does that make?" we 
 replied. 
 
 "Well," she answered, "if it is about politics it 
 makes a lot of difference which brother you see." 
 
 "Kindly explain," we said, leaning gracefully up 
 against the counter and lighting a huge cigar. 
 [233]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 "Well, it's just this way: Billy, the first partner, is 
 a Republican, and treasurer of the Local Republican 
 Committee; so if it's anything in reference to Repub- 
 lican politics you must see him about it. 
 
 " Morgan is a Democrat, and treasurer of the Local 
 Democratic Committee, and if you are a Democrat 
 you must see him. On the other hand," she added, 
 "if you want to be perfectly independent, or join any 
 of the parties like the Socialist or the Prohibition, 
 Parkie will look out for you." 
 
 "I hope the brothers all agree," we said. 
 
 "Oh, certainly," she replied; "they all get along 
 splendidly together." 
 
 Whereupon we said: "Well, we wish to see one of 
 the brothers on a political matter. Which one shall 
 we see?' 
 
 "Well," she said, "if you are looking for a license 
 you should see Morgan, who is a license com- 
 missioner; when you go to hire your building, you 
 must see Parkie, who takes care of the real estate 
 department; and Bill would be your attorney to draw 
 the papers." 
 
 "Say," we asked, "do you ever lose anything up in 
 this office?" 
 
 "No," she replied, with a laugh; "we play both sides 
 and the middle." 
 
 [234]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 In addition to having all the facilities for 
 serving the liquor business, all the Mc- 
 Sweeneys were active members of the Total 
 Abstinence Society. When Billy, who was an 
 alderman, came out as a candidate for mayor, 
 the three brothers directed the family political 
 machine toward his election. 
 
 One day in the middle of October there was 
 a big temperance parade in Salem, in which 
 the McSweeney brothers were prominent 
 paraders. Two hours before, the candidate 
 for mayor had been in court defending a man 
 for illegal liquor-selling. The next morning I 
 came out with a jocose chronicle of the candi- 
 date's dual role in the Dispatch. 
 
 As I went down to Town House Square on 
 my way to breakfast the next morning, Parker 
 McSweeney strode up to me with a copy of the 
 Dispatch in his hand, and exclaimed: 
 
 "Did you write that article?" 
 [235]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 "Yes," I replied. 
 
 "Unless you promise to retract it to- 
 morrow morning,'* he said, "I'll thrash you 
 on the spot. " 
 
 I advised him to go down to the North 
 River and jump in and cool himself off. 
 Thereupon he jumped at me, struck me on the 
 head, and knocked me down. 
 
 McSweeney was a powerful man, over six 
 feet tall, and weighed nearly two hundred 
 pounds. I weighed then only a little over one 
 hundred pounds. My chances were slight. 
 His brother Morgan rushed up and led him 
 away. I got up on my feet and went down to 
 my office, where I dictated an account of the 
 affair, which appeared the next morning. 
 
 My friends wanted me to swear out a war- 
 rant for the man's arrest, but I refused, and, 
 turning over the paper to Curtis, I went to a 
 hospital in Boston to get treatment. There I 
 
 [236]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 found I was not seriously hurt, though my 
 left arm was so badly bruised that it was for 
 the time entirely useless. On the third day, 
 when I was beginning to sit up, I received a 
 telegram saying that the circulation of the 
 Dispatch had fallen off half, and I went back 
 immediately to Salem. And from that time 
 until election day I was in harness day and 
 night, getting out the newspaper and carrying 
 on my campaign for mayor. 
 
 It was a fight like nothing the old city of 
 Salem had ever seen. For six weeks before 
 the election I carried on a ceaseless personal 
 campaign. Every day I got out two news- 
 papers filled with politics. My paper had 
 only two set articles a day an editorial 
 and a leading article. They were sufficient. 
 Salem had never seen such articles, and the 
 headlines of Hearst's newspapers were small 
 compared to mine. Every one read the
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 Dispatch; even Damon's wife had her news- 
 boy deliver it to her, wrapped up inside the 
 Boston paper. Its circulation went up to 
 eight thousand. 
 
 Every night I spoke from three to ten times. 
 I talked everywhere in halls, on street 
 corners, and in barns. I visited every small 
 store, every club, every place where men 
 gathered. I visited and I made a house-to- 
 house canvass of the city. I had been in the 
 city, you must remember, less than a year; I 
 had just been able to register as a voter in 
 Massachusetts; and it was necessary for me 
 to get acquainted. 
 
 Bill Sanborn and Ed Allen were back of me, 
 directing. Neither one of them had been in 
 active politics before; but they made the 
 shrewdest of politicians, and they had the aid 
 of other more experienced men. They had 
 in their hands a check-list of every voter in 
 [258]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 the city, and they and their friends felt the 
 pulse of the whole community. Whenever, 
 they met the objection that the voter did not 
 know me, they gave me his name, and I made 
 it my business to see him. As there were 
 seventy-five hundred voters in the city, the 
 field of my activities was large. 
 
 There were five separate candidates in the 
 field Hurley, the serving mayor; Mc- 
 Sweeney; Pollock, a barber and a member of 
 the State Legislature; Goodhue, an aristo- 
 cratic citizen nominated by the Good Govern- 
 ment Association, who represented the "blue 
 bloods," and myself. There had never been 
 such an aggregation of candidates for the 
 mayoralty in quiet Salem before. 
 
 All of us men ran, not as candidates of any 
 national party, but as non-partisan candi- 
 dates on nomination papers. As it came 
 time for the filing of the papers I was anxious. 
 [239]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 I filed mine the first day possible, but the 
 others delayed. Rumour said that some of 
 them might withdraw. My success depended 
 on keeping them all in and splitting the vote, 
 so I began to use my strongest weapon, my 
 newspaper, to force them all to run. 
 
 First I came out with a statement that 
 Billy McSweeney was going to quit. This 
 brought him out with the statement that he 
 would never withdraw. Then I got after 
 Pollock in a story saying that he had been, 
 ordered out of the race by Mayor Hurley. 
 This brought out a letter from Pollock that he 
 would be in until the counting of the votes. 
 There was no occasion to bother with the 
 others; I knew they would never quit. So 
 all five of us were securely in the race. 
 
 Up to the middle of November not a single 
 denial had been made of my articles and state- 
 ments. I was supposed to be a joke early 
 [240]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 in the campaign, and my opposition in the 
 political gang had been betting that I would 
 not poll five hundred votes. But three weeks 
 before election they were all copying me and 
 looking for newspaper space in the News. 
 This made a distressing situation for Editor 
 Damon. 
 
 Up to that time it was the fixed policy of the 
 News never to mention me, either as a candi- 
 date or as an editor. My name never ap- 
 peared in the News. But, oh, how the public 
 were warned against "gilded youths," "New 
 York men," and "strangers!" Finally the 
 Good Government Association came out in a 
 big rally with a tremendous "slam" upon me 
 for using my newspaper to further my per- 
 sonal campaign. A great chance for me! The 
 next day I came out with four blank columns. 
 At the head of the first column was the fol- 
 lowing : "This column is placed at the disposal 
 [2411
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 of W. H. McSweeney to say what he pleases 
 about himself or our editor." The other 
 three blank columns were dedicated to the 
 other three candidates in the same way. I 
 carried the blank columns for several days, 
 but no advantage was taken of them by the 
 other candidates. 
 
 In the meantime I called attention to the 
 fact that my newspaper aimed to be fair to 
 every one, and I adopted the slogan which I 
 carried to the end of the campaign: 
 
 IF YOU WANT ANOTHER NEWSPAPER IN 
 SALEM, VOTE FOR HOWARD 
 
 It was very successful. The News had had 
 a monopoly of the field for years. Its editor 
 was very arbitrary about what he chose to 
 print, and he had accumulated a number of 
 enemies who felt that he had treated their 
 affairs harshly in his paper. 
 
 Meanwhile, I felt that I was getting ac-
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 quainted, and that I had gained a good many 
 friends in the city; the young business men of 
 the city, influenced largely by the respect they 
 had for Sanborn and Ed Allen, were coming 
 my way. The labouring population were 
 friendly, and I had reached quite a number of 
 people through my big acquaintance with the 
 children of the city. I was always fond of 
 children, and made it a point to speak to 
 every one I passed on the street. On two 
 occasions I had entertained big gatherings of 
 them, and most of the children knew Editor 
 Howard. With Nellie Bates and Johnny, the 
 newsboy, I had cemented a close friendship. 
 Both of my small friends would be twelve on 
 their next birthdays; both were firmly con- 
 vinced that I would be elected. 
 
 It happened one day that they both were 
 in my office. Johnny sat on the table and 
 glared at Nellie, who was just going out on an 
 [243]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 errand for me. When she had gone Johnny 
 said: 
 
 "I don't think much of girls." 
 
 "Why not, Johnny?" I asked. 
 
 "They are no good, that's all," he said. 
 
 "Don't you like Nellie? She is a great 
 chum of mine," I said. 
 
 "No," replied Johnny. "Her eyes are too 
 big and she cries. I hate people that slobber. " 
 
 "Nellie is a sensitive little thing, and you 
 are rough with her Johnny," I said. 
 
 "Girls are no good around business," 
 argued Johnny. "Especially that kind." 
 
 "Have you a sister, Johnny?" I asked. 
 
 "No, and I don't want any," said my little 
 friend. " I steer clear of girls. " 
 
 Just then Nellie came in with a box of ice 
 cream I had sent her for. 
 
 "Nellie has brought us some icecream," 
 I said to Johnny. 
 
 [2441
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 "Yes," he replied, "but you're the guy that 
 paid for it. " 
 
 "It was nice of Nellie to go for it," I said. 
 
 "Any kid would go for ice cream," said 
 Johnny, bound not to give in. 
 
 We divided the cream, and while we were 
 eating it I said: 
 
 "In a few years I might grow rich and in- 
 stead of this rough wood floor we would have 
 a lovely carpet, very, very thick. The win- 
 dows instead of being cracked and ugly would 
 be of beautiful coloured glass with lovely 
 flowers in the window boxes. We would have 
 pictures of trees and sheep and brooks on the 
 walls, and the building would be painted 
 white, with green blinds. Instead of having 
 ice cream once a week, we would have a big 
 dinner every day, consisting of soup, a big 
 steak, delicious fried potatoes, and end with 
 chocolate cake and ice cream. " 
 [245]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 I stopped. 
 
 "Wouldn't that be lovely!" said Nellie, 
 going out to put the dishes away. 
 
 "It's a wonder she didn't weep," said 
 Johnny. " Girls always do at such rot. " 
 
 After Nellie had gone, Johnny told me that 
 the boys in his class had taken a vote on who 
 would be elected and that I had most of them. 
 
 "I seem to get along with the kids all right; 
 better, I am afraid, than I do with the grown- 
 ups. How is that, Johnny?" I asked. 
 
 "Oh," he said sagely, "you're an easy guy 
 for the kids; they're wise to you. If you've 
 got a nickel, any kid can touch you, and you 
 don't know it. They're all on. There isn't 
 one that doesn't know you. " 
 
 "Do you think I will be elected, Johnny?" 
 I asked. 
 
 "Sure," said Johnny; "you've got them 
 sliding for bases. " 
 
 [246]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 "How and why?' 5 1 asked. 
 
 "Well," said Johnny, rubbing his head, 
 "you're strong with the kids, which tickles the 
 old people, and then you've got an easy way 
 of talking with people that makes a hit, and 
 you're not a tight wad. " 
 
 "Anything else?" I asked in curiosity. 
 
 "Yes," said Johnny. "You're a swell guy 
 that used to have the coin, but it ain't hurt 
 you any." 
 
 [247]
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 I HADN'T been a public speaker until 
 I came to Salem, and I had to gain 
 experience as I went along. In the 
 beginning of the campaign I used to read my 
 speeches, and I always felt that they lacked 
 something. The last of October I had an 
 experience that made me change my method. 
 I was speaking to about a hundred people 
 in a hall on the outskirts of the city. Among 
 them I became aware of a man of loud and 
 decided opinions about me, who informed his 
 neighbours in the hall that he had come "to 
 hear the freak. " He meant that I should hear 
 him, and I did. 
 
 The chairman introduced me for a speech 
 of fifteen minutes, and I started to read my 
 [248]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 speech, when, glancing down, I saw my critic 
 looking very dubious at my remarks. Down 
 went my manuscript, and I began to speak 
 extemporaneously, acquiring an energy that I 
 had never known before. I argued my case 
 with that one man. The room was as still as 
 death not a sound excepting my voice. I 
 argued, told my story, my reasons, and my 
 remedy to that man that one man. Finally 
 I saw him nod his head as I spoke. 
 
 All at once I shouted at him: 
 
 "Don't you agree with me?" 
 
 He sprang to his feet and yelled back: 
 
 "Damn it, yes!" 
 
 I rushed out of the hall; I had spoken two 
 hours. 
 
 Soon everybody was inviting me to speak; 
 and the other four candidates were all rushing 
 around speaking, too. 
 
 The local organization decided to give a 
 [249]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 rally, and we mayoralty candidates were all 
 put on the platform at the same time. 
 
 The Good Government candidate, Mr. 
 Goodhue, was first. He devoted himself to 
 explaining how his ancestors had lived and 
 died in Salem mostly died. 
 
 Billy McSweeney came next. He was one 
 of those "from the Atlantic to the Pacific" 
 orators who throw back their heads and talk 
 into the sky. The gee-lorious emblem was un- 
 furled. 
 
 Mayor Hurley, the silk-hatted friend of the 
 people, assured the audience that they were all 
 good fellows; his opponents were good fellows; 
 he was the friend of all; he spoke of his war 
 record. 
 
 Mr. Pollock then told of the labour bills he 
 had introduced as a State representative. 
 Then the chairman rose and said: 
 
 "The last speaker is unknown. His name 
 [ 250 1
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 is Howard, and he comes from New York. 
 That's all he tells us. But we Yankees are a 
 cautious people; we find out things for our- 
 selves. Therefore, gentlemen, I introduce to 
 you, as candidate for mayor, Arthur Howard, 
 the prodigal son. " 
 
 Very slowly I came forward. I waited un- 
 til the room was quiet, and said: 
 
 "Mr. Chairman: We read in the Good Book 
 that the prodigal son was given everything 
 when he returned home. My grandfather 
 left Salem years ago, rich. I, his grandson, 
 now return, poor. If history repeats itself, I 
 should be given the best you have namely, 
 the high office of mayor. 
 
 "Prodigal sons are supposed to be without 
 relations, and their birthdays are not cele- 
 brated. Strange as it may seem, election day 
 is my birthday. There is no one to remember 
 that day for me, or to give me a present. It is 
 [251]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 possible for you all to do a kindly act without 
 any expense attached. I therefore ask each 
 one to give me a present that day a vote 
 for mayor. " 
 
 It caught the crowd. 
 
 I was swamped with invitations to speak. 
 Every club, society, and association wanted to 
 hear me. One night I was invited to preach a 
 sermon at the Women's Temperance Associa- 
 tion. My opponents laughed; they thought 
 it a good joke on me. While I addressed the 
 women they could talk with the men, and men, 
 they reasoned, had the votes. I was told 
 that I would get no opportunity to mention 
 politics there. 
 
 When the evening came around I appeared 
 and was duly introduced. I announced as 
 my text, the following: 
 
 "And there was much murmuring among the people 
 concerning him, for some said, 'He is a good man ' 
 [252]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 others said, 'Nay, he deceiveth the people. '" St. 
 John vii., 12. 
 
 The text gave me a chance to get it all in. 
 
 And then a famous drinking club invited 
 
 me to speak. Here is how I ended my speech: 
 
 "I am told that I must avoid the subject of politics 
 at a banquet of this kind, and that is a hard thing to 
 do, because I dream politics at night, have a political 
 breakfast, a political dinner, and a political supper. 
 Far be it from me to-night to say anything about the 
 campaign, or to hint at anything that would have the 
 effect of influencing your vote; but I want to call your 
 attention to one fact: Everywhere I go I see the 
 number 2700. We sold 2700 newspapers to-day; I 
 delivered a speech to-night before I came here that 
 contained 2700 words; a trolley car that I saw this 
 morning was numbered 2700, and my balance in the 
 bank to-night is 2700. Now the politicians tell us 
 that 2700 votes will win this election. If I keep seeing 
 2700 all over, can you blame me if I think that 2700 
 is coming to me somehow or other on election day? I 
 figured up to-night that I have 2650 votes. There are 
 just 50 gentlemen here to-night. Think it over." 
 [253]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 Election day was December 14th, and by 
 December 1st I began to "hit up the pace" 
 still more. On that night I made a whirl- 
 wind tour in an automobile and made twelve 
 speeches one in each of the twelve precincts 
 of the city. I started at seven o'clock and 
 ended at eleven. The night was dreadfully 
 stormy; it rained, it snowed, and before the 
 tour was over I was half frozen. I received a 
 variety of letters commenting on my per- 
 formance some unfavourable, more favour- 
 able. One writer said: 
 
 Like many others, I was interested in Mr. Howard's 
 whirlwind tour last night. When I saw it rain I did 
 not expect he would go the rounds. 
 
 When Mr. Howard arrived in the seventh precinct, 
 I stood by his automobile. He was evidently half 
 frozen. The rain was pouring down on him. His 
 teeth chattered, and his hands were blue with the cold. 
 I admire his pluck and determination to keep his word 
 despite his personal discomfort, and I believe that a 
 
 [254]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 man who can face Tuesday's storm will face any storm 
 in City Hall for our benefit. 
 
 Another man, with a different opinion, 
 wrote : 
 
 Editor Howard: 
 
 If you think you will get votes by the speech you 
 gave at the corner of Tremont and School streets last 
 night, you will never get to be mayor of Salem. You 
 are rotten as a speech-maker. Will you publish this? 
 
 A VOTER. 
 
 My pace was too hot for the other four can- 
 didates. None of them attempted a whirl- 
 wind tour, and by the end of that first week in 
 December they were pretty well tired out. I 
 was working day and night, speaking and 
 getting out the Dispatch. Often I slept in a 
 chair in the office after I had seen the paper go 
 to press. I was getting very thin, but I felt 
 well enough. My voice was strong, and I 
 did not feel specially tired. 
 [255]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 But I was continually out of money. We 
 were publishing great editions of the news- 
 paper; but we got a very few advertisements, 
 and my force had to be steadily increased 
 during the campaign. Our receipts did not 
 equal the expense. If it hadn't been for my 
 father and Sanborn and Ed Allen, I never 
 could have pulled through. I got a letter 
 from father every morning. What pleasant 
 letters they were! He never forgot to write 
 me, and he never mentioned the past; but he 
 always warned me to be prepared for defeat, 
 and in each letter there was a clean five-dollar 
 bill. That money went immediately into the 
 newspaper and the campaign, and Sanborn 
 and Allen added what they could spare from 
 their own pockets. 
 
 We needed most of all a linotype machine 
 for the Dispatch. I had written the Mergen- 
 thaler Company offering to buy one, but they 
 
 [256]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 demanded five hundred dollars cash down. I 
 was "broke." Sanborn and Ed Allen were 
 meeting the pay-roll for me. I had no money, 
 not even an overcoat only the suit of 
 clothes I had on, and my dress-suit. A 
 linotype seemed impossible. 
 
 On Wednesday, the week before election, 
 three men called a liquor dealers' commit- 
 tee. They said they were giving each candi- 
 date two hundred and fifty dollars as a con- 
 tribution toward a campaign fund. I took 
 mine, went to the telegraph company, and sent 
 the following despatch: 
 
 Just wired you two hundred and fifty dollars. If 
 you ship a machine by express to-day I can be elected 
 
 mayor of this city next Tuesday. 
 
 HOWARD. 
 
 A risk yes! They might wire back: 
 "Send us two hundred and fifty dollars more; 
 we'll keep this on account. " 
 
 [257]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 But they didn't. They sent the machine 
 by express, and a man came to set it up. Joe, 
 my Italian man of all work and bodyguard, 
 drew his money from the savings bank and 
 paid the express charges fifty dollars. A 
 loyal crew were mine! By noon the next day 
 the linotype machine was running. 
 
 But now the Howard Campaign Fund was 
 exhausted. We could not raise a dollar more. 
 The five dollars a day from father was the last 
 little thread that held us up, and the week 
 before election was on. 
 
 On Tuesday night I made another whirl- 
 wind tour. It was cold, but good crowds 
 came out. Having no overcoat, I padded my 
 undercoat with newspapers. Did I catch 
 cold? No; I was too excited. 
 
 On Friday two untoward things happened. 
 The usual letter with the five-dollar bill came 
 from father, but the handwriting was not his. 
 [258]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 That afternoon there was a split between my 
 campaign managers. Sanborn and Ed Allen 
 disagreed with Curtis, my associate editor, 
 who was now stumping the town with me. I 
 sided with Curtis; and Sanborn and Allen 
 went away angry. I immediately called on 
 Michael Trainor, a strong supporter of mine, 
 president of the A. O. H. and a fine speaker, 
 and made him campaign manager. 
 
 At four o'clock it was bitter cold. We had 
 planned a whirlwind tour. I had to go to bed 
 and send for a doctor; my voice was almost 
 gone. The doctor poulticed and rubbed my 
 throat until half-past six. Then I dressed, 
 and at seven we started on the tour. Trainor 
 was in fine voice, and Curtis spoke well; but 
 I could talk only two minutes at a time. We 
 made every stop to the thirteenth, and last, on 
 schedule time, though to do it we drove our au- 
 tomobile a good part of the way on two wheels. 
 [259]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 And now it was Saturday, and I was really 
 ill. My weight was less than a hundred 
 pounds, and I was very weak. Coffee and 
 quinine were all I could take: the sight of food 
 disgusted me. I could not sleep. Yet I had 
 never been so calm and collected. 
 
 Sanborn and Allen came in again that 
 morning, and took care of my mail and saw 
 my callers. The mail was full of threatening 
 letters, and from that time on when I went 
 out on the streets I was always accompanied 
 by two members of my committee. Joe, my 
 Italian pressman, a young Goliath, had 
 watched me for weeks. My friends thought 
 it would be better to take no chances on an 
 assault. 
 
 After supper I made two speeches on the 
 
 streets, and became chilled to the bone. At 
 
 nine o'clock I went to an indoor rally. As 
 
 soon as I arrived I was asked to speak, and, as 
 
 [260]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 usual, got completely absorbed in my topic. 
 Suddenly I seemed to lose my grip; my voice 
 got thick, my head swam, and I started for the 
 stage door, reeling. Sanborn and Ed Allen 
 caught me as I fell, and helped me to my 
 boarding-house, where I fell exhausted on the 
 bed, and went to sleep with my clothes on. 
 
 Sunday was the day I had reserved for the 
 French district. As a forerunner I printed a 
 complete newspaper in French in which I not 
 only told all about my opponents but also told 
 what I had done in Salem. 
 
 Harry Le Brun was a member of my cam- 
 paign committee. He stood well with the 
 French people and was president of one of 
 their best clubs. We started right after 
 morning church and went the rounds of the 
 French clubs. They will tell you to-day in 
 Salem that I spoke French at all of those clubs 
 and that by doing so I got a number of their 
 [261]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 votes. I talked plain English, but I spoke 
 very slowly so all could understand. All 
 through my speeches I used French idioms 
 and occasionally said a few sentences together 
 in French. In the excitement of a new candi- 
 date and the enthusiasm over hearing their 
 own language, they assumed that I spoke 
 entirely in French. The total number of 
 clubs I spoke at was twenty-four. Mr. Le 
 Brun introduced me in a most flattering man- 
 ner and assured all the audiences that I could 
 understand them when they spoke even if I 
 could not speak their language fluently. 
 
 May I go ahead of my story a little? 
 
 When the returns came in on election night, 
 it was learned that we five candidates divided 
 the French vote equally. That evening I 
 spoke at Trainer's club. All Sunday night I 
 tossed in my bed until four in the morning; 
 then I arose and dressed, and sat down at my 
 [262]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 desk. My body was weary, my throat raw, 
 but my head was unusually clear. My look- 
 ing-glass told me the story of my exhaustion 
 
 my face was drawn, my cheeks sunken, 
 and my neck looked like a pipestem. 
 
 I sat there in my room, thinking over that 
 strange year of my life which I had just passed 
 
 my bankruptcy in New York, the assaults 
 on me, the days in jail, starvation, debts, and 
 one continuance grind of work. And yet, 
 what satisfactory work it had been! How 
 many friends I had made! In New York I 
 had spent over five thousand dollars a year on 
 myself alone; in New England I had not spent 
 five hundred dollars. But that did not keep 
 me from making friends. It is not what a 
 man wears or spends, it is how he acts and 
 what he is that counts in New England. 
 
 "I wonder if I can be elected?" I said to 
 myself, "I surely will get a good vote; and 
 [*]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 even if I were not mayor, that would be worth 
 while. A vote of a thousand would be some- 
 thing to be proud of. It would make father 
 so pleased. That in itself would be a great 
 comfort." 
 
 There was a letter in a Boston paper that I 
 was best pleased about: 
 
 As long ago as last July, it was observed that How- 
 erd would be elected, if any tricks were played in the 
 courts. Placing the Damon case before the Doyle 
 case made it look as though Howard had been. This 
 city is large enough for two newspapers. Why should 
 Howard be stopped ? He never printed a scandal, and 
 all he writes is in good nature, and apparently true, 
 as we have had no denials so far. The people here 
 are ready for a change, ready for a leader, and he has 
 come from the outside. His mind is right, his heart 
 is right, and his whole soul is in his work. 
 
 I wished my father could see that! I had 
 no money, not even sufficient clothing; but 
 "his mind is right, his heart is right, and his 
 
 J
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 whole soul is in his work. " And the writer of 
 this letter stood very high in Salem. 
 
 It was five o'clock and I was at my office 
 five o'clock on Monday, the day before elec- 
 tion. At ten o'clock we had sold out our entire 
 edition. The newsboys were howling for more 
 papers, and we had no more paper to print on. 
 It was up to me to devise some scheme to 
 keep the newsboys from selling the News that 
 afternoon. The idea came. I ran off fifty 
 big cards on the press. They read: 
 
 IT'S IN THE Am 
 HOWARD 
 
 I sent out fifty boys, each holding aloft one 
 of these placards. They made a hit. 
 
 The one thing left now was the big rally that 
 night. We had engaged the large Now and 
 
 [265]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 Then Association Hall. We were to reserve 
 the gallery for women an innovation. We 
 planned to make it a striking occasion in 
 every way. I had the whole day in which to 
 prepare my speech. My circle of backers all 
 came in for one last conference. It looked 
 good for me in every ward. After some 
 desultory talk they all went away except Bill 
 Sanborn. 
 
 "I was never interested in politics before in 
 my life," he remarked. 
 
 "Neither was I," I answered. 
 
 "Well," said Bill, "I'd like to see you win 
 not only for your own sake, but your 
 father's. He must be a fine old man. " 
 
 "He certainly is," said Ed Allen, stepping 
 back into the room again. 
 
 "It would please him," I said, "if I only 
 got five hundred votes. " 
 
 "You make me tired," said Sanborn. 
 [266]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 "You are elected, sure. The other candi- 
 dates are almost crazy. And, when you are, 
 I am going over to New York, and have a talk 
 with your father, and tell him what you've 
 done here. " 
 
 They went down the stairs together, laugh- 
 ing, and I turned back into my little office. 
 
 Johnny came running in. 
 
 "Good morning, Mayor," he said. 
 
 "Hello, Johnny. What's on your mind?" 
 I said. 
 
 "Nothing; only a guy gave me this telegram 
 for you," said Johnny, thrusting it into my 
 hand. I tore it open and read: 
 
 Arthur Howard, Salem, Mass.: Your father passed 
 away Sunday night. Funeral Wednesday morning. 
 
 HOWARD & COMPANY. 
 
 * ****** 
 
 I had walked five miles. I was not the 
 least tired, but my head seemed on fire. I 
 
 [267]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 could not get my thoughts together. All at 
 once I found myself coming in out of the 
 country road to the city. The children were 
 coming out of the schoolhouse across the 
 street, and I waved my hand at them. Nellie 
 Bates came running out of the crowd. 
 
 "It was my birthday yesterday," said 
 Nellie, as we walked on together. 
 
 "How old were you?" 
 
 "I'm twelve." 
 
 "You are a very wise little lady for twelve 
 years of age. " 
 
 "I am wise enough," she answered quickly, 
 "to know you are going to be elected mayor 
 to-morrow. " 
 
 "Don't be too sure," I said. 
 
 We walked on in silence for a block or two. 
 
 "Mother telephoned me at school," she 
 said. 
 
 "Anything wrong?" I asked. 
 [268]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP > 
 "She told me about your father," said 
 Nellie. 
 
 We still walked on in silence. 
 "I am so sorry" she was crying. "I 
 am so sorry," she started again. "Mother 
 says you always spoke of him in your speeches. 
 Mother says you must have been very fond of 
 each other." 
 
 We turned into the main street. 
 "You don't want me to talk about your 
 father, do you?" she asked. 
 "Yes; that's all right." 
 "If my dad died, I would cry," said the 
 child. "All you do is to stare. If my dad 
 died, I would never stop crying." 
 
 We turned into the Dispatch office, and 
 went to my little room. Bill and Ed stood up 
 as we came in. I lit a cigar, and the three of 
 us smoked in silence. 
 
 "How about to-night?" said Bill at last. 
 [269]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 "I can't do it," I said shortly. 
 
 "Then you're defeated," said Ed. 
 
 "I don't care," I replied. "Let Trainor 
 and Curtis speak. I cannot. " 
 
 "What was Mr. Howard going to do to- 
 night?" asked Nellie. 
 
 No one answered her. 
 
 "What do they want you to do?" she per- 
 sisted. 
 
 " I was to speak at the Now and Then Hall," 
 I said, "but I can't do that now." 
 
 "Hundreds will be disappointed," said 
 Bill. 
 
 "I can't do that, Bill," I said. "I really 
 cannot. " 
 
 "If you don't speak, Mr. Howard, every- 
 body will go to hear the others, " said Nellie. 
 
 "That's it exactly," said Bill and Ed to- 
 gether. 
 
 I went out alone to my boarding-house. 
 [270]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 At half-past seven Bill Sanborn and Ed Allen 
 came to my room. 
 
 "I have got a carriage outside," said Bill. 
 
 "Wear your dress-suit," said Ed. 'That 
 suit you've got on is in the last stages of 
 
 decay. " 
 
 I got into my evening clothes, and we went 
 to the hall. Trainor was introducing Curtis 
 as I came in the rear way. I sat in an ante- 
 room with Bill and Ed and the doctor, who 
 was spraying my throat for me so I could speak. 
 
 Curtis was very brief told of my father's 
 death, and asked the indulgence of the au- 
 dience for me. Trainor then introduced me, 
 but I did not go on to the platform until he 
 spoke my name. There were sixteen hundred 
 people in the hall. I was given a great 
 reception. 
 
 I began in a low voice. I did not know 
 what to say at first, but I soon started a frank 
 
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 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 story of my life in Salem. I spoke of my 
 failure in New York, my fight to get a foot- 
 hold, the misery and effort and discourage- 
 ments of that busy year. You could hear a 
 pin drop as I went on. It was nine o'clock, 
 half-past nine, almost ten o'clock. No one 
 stirred. As the clock struck ten, I realized 
 I must finish. I came close to the front, and 
 began to plead with my audience. 
 
 "We read in the Good Book," I said, 
 "where it says: 'Thou hast been faithful over 
 a few things, I will make thee ruler over many 
 things'; and again, we read those beautiful 
 words of Ruth: "Thy people shall be my 
 people.' I plead with you for my election, 
 for the chance to show you what I can do. I 
 have worked hard had my successes, had 
 my disappointments. " 
 
 My voice broke, and I looked around help- 
 lessly. 
 
 [272]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 Trainor leaned forward. 
 "Go on, go on!" he said. 
 With a great effort, I went on again: 
 "There are friends and relatives in New 
 York who are disappointed in me. I came 
 to Salem a year ago to start life anew. All 
 that I ask is that you give me a chance, so 
 that those who knew me, those who liked me, 
 and those who loved me in my distant home 
 will say: 'He has made good." 
 
 I motioned with my hand that I was 
 through. The house was still as death ; a num- 
 ber of the women in the gallery were crying. 
 
 And then it came from pit to gallery - 
 cheer after cheer after cheer. I walked off 
 the stage. My muscles seemed to contract, 
 and everything grew dim. The doctor picked 
 up a tumbler of water and dashed it in my 
 face. I burst out laughing, and laughed and 
 laughed and laughed. 
 
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 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 It was midnight when I reached my board- 
 ing-house and got to bed. At four o'clock I 
 awoke. Somehow I felt that there was some 
 one outside my door. I opened it, and saw 
 my landlady stretched back in a chair, asleep. 
 Good old soul how she had worried over me 
 through the campaign! 
 
 At six o'clock I was called. Sanborn and 
 Ed Allen had come for me in an automobile. 
 They took me to vote my first vote in 
 Massachusetts. Then we rounded up the 
 polling-places, and finally we went for a spin 
 in the country. We had lunch somewhere, but 
 I could not eat. At four o'clock we went to 
 Link Allen's house to get the returns. About 
 a dozen of the faithful were there; a supper 
 was laid out, and a punch-bowl appeared on 
 the table. 
 
 One by one the precincts came in. The 
 swing was clearly in my direction. Ten pre- 
 
 [274]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 cincts were in. I had a lead that could not be 
 overcome. The punch-bowl was surrounded; 
 snatches of song, jocular talk, and cheers arose 
 around it. I sat alone in a corner, with my 
 tables of election figures. The messengers 
 came and went; the telephone jangled inces- 
 santly. The street outside was filling up with 
 people. 
 
 Precinct eleven came; I carried it. Pre- 
 cinct twelve arrived; I carried that. I had 
 won! I, Arthur Howard, bankrupt and 
 stranger, had been made chief executive of 
 one of the oldest and most conservative cities 
 in the United States, in less than fourteen 
 months after my arrival. 
 
 Bill Sanborn and Ed Allen and Heman Cur- 
 tis were dancing up and down before me like 
 mad. The reporters of the big Boston papers 
 came in and asked for interviews. Crowds 
 poured into the house. A band came playing 
 
 [275]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 down the street, and the crowd outside were 
 crying, "Howard, Howard, Howard!" Then 
 some one got my overcoat no, it was not my 
 overcoat. The mayor-elect of Salem had no 
 overcoat. It was some one's overcoat, any- 
 way. I was led out of the house; every- 
 body was shaking hands with me. I was in an 
 auto; so were Ed Allen and Sanborn and Link 
 Allen; Johnny was on the step. 
 
 "Bow, you fool take off your hat!" said 
 Link Allen, punching me. 
 
 People were everywhere. Windows flew 
 open. We started off. Ahead of us a band 
 was playing, "See, the conquering hero 
 comes. " It sounded ten miles off to me. 
 
 More cheers, more people. I never was so 
 confused in my life. 
 
 The streets were full of children. We 
 passed the orphan asylum. I thought such 
 institutions closed at nine o'clock; yet all the 
 
 [276]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 children were in the windows, cheering. Be- 
 hind the automobile came high-school boys, 
 with locked arms, yelling: "Howard, Howard, 
 Mayor Howard!" 
 
 And now we swing into the old political 
 centre Town House Square. The auto- 
 mobile stops, and, forced by the singing of the 
 crowd, the band has changed its tune. Hun- 
 dreds and thousands of voices have caught 
 the words: 
 
 "We'll hang Robin Damon to a sour apple tree." 
 
 Johnny pulled my coat. "It beats the 
 circus, don't it?" he yelled in my ear. 
 
 Round the old square we go, the place one 
 solid mass of humanity. I am bowing right 
 and left. And now we are in the grimy old 
 railroad station. I am helped out, and al- 
 most swamped by the crowd. Trainor has 
 one arm, Link the other, Bill Sanborn strides 
 
 [277]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 forward, and lifts me like a child into the 
 back platform of the train. I did not know a 
 train was there. 
 
 Everybody is yelling, "Speech!" 
 
 I have lost the power of speech: I cannot 
 even think. Suddenly silence. Trainor is 
 speaking. I don't understand one word he is 
 saying, except "Thank you." 
 
 And now I am alone. The crowd is yelling. 
 Above them hats shoot up into the air, a jolt, 
 and we move. Suddenly I find my voice: 
 
 "Oh, you Salem! "I yell. 
 
 Back came ten thousand voices: "Oh, you 
 New York." 
 
 I wave my hat. 
 
 I have no ticket. Yes, I have; it's in my 
 hand. I remembered Ed Allen gave me some- 
 thing, and I still have on somebody's over- 
 coat. And now we are moving fast, and 
 leaving Salem. I turn and enter the car. 
 
 [278]
 
 THE MAN WHO BUCKED UP 
 
 My thoughts turn from the noise and glare to 
 the silent scene which will next meet me to 
 my father lying dead in New York. 
 
 There are only a few passengers a couple 
 of travelling men. In front of them are Ned 
 Bates and his wife. Thank Heaven I am 
 alone. I sink wearily into a seat. 
 
 But I am not alone. There is some one 
 beside me some one small, some one with 
 big eyes, smiling happily. Nellie Bates is 
 sitting by me. Our eyes meet her smile 
 fades away. She turns, in her impetuous 
 way, throws her arms around my neck, and 
 well, we cried, both of us, as if our hearts 
 would break. 
 
 THE END 
 
 [279]
 
 THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS 
 GARDEN CITY, N. Y.
 
 A 000 043 725 1