“The town is going to the Devil, and the worstof it is nobody will admit it. You won’t.You sit there and smile at me, as if you didn’tmind having Jake Mulligan and Reub Cowder pryopen ballot boxes. You know those two birds arerobbing this village every hour of the day. Nobodywith pep enough to sit up and fight ’em. Rotten selfishness,that’s what ails this town. People getting richhere and spending their money in the city. Womenwon’t even buy their hats here—starving the stores.Can’t support a decent theater—don’t bring a goodsinger once a year. Everybody goes to the city, andwe have to feed on movies.
“Try to raise an issue, and you get laughed at.Treated like a kid. Tell me to ‘cut it out,’ not disturbthings. Nice place for a man who’d like to help acommunity! I’m going to get out. Can’t stand it.Honest, Dick, I’m losing my self-respect.”
“Wrong, Ralph. You’re spoiling for a fresh turnwith the muck rake. You can’t make a garden withone tool. You must have several. I’m serious.You’re like the men in the mines that will tackle butone job, always swing a pick. The muck rake didits job in Sabinsport for some time. You’ve got topass on to the next tool.”
“I don’t get you. You’re like all the rest. You’relying down. I’m ashamed of you, Parson. Get outof here. You’ll end in corrupting me.”
“No, only persuading you that taking a city callsfor more weapons than one.”
Silence fell for a moment. Ralph Gardner wastired. Getting out the daily issue of the SabinsportArgus was, as he often said, “Some job.” To be yourown editor-in-chief, leader writer, advertising agentand circulation manager for the only daily in a townof 15,000 or more means hard work and a lot of it.Ralph loved it, “ate it up,” they said in the shop. Itwas only when calm settled over Sabinsport and hefelt no violent reaction from his spirited attacks ontown iniquities that he was depressed. This was oneof these periods. The year before he had foughtand won for the Progressive Party of the District asmashing victory. He was eager to follow it up withattacks on the special grafts of the two men who foryears had run the town and vicinity. He had oustedtheir candidates from the County and State tickets.He meant to wrest the town from them, but he couldn’tget the support he needed. The town had lain downon him. He didn’t understand it and it frettedhim.
Now here was his best and wisest friend, advisingwaiting. He hung his handsome head in sulky silence.
“What a boy!” thought the Reverend RichardIngraham. They were the best of friends, this eager,active, confident young editor and this cool, humorous-eyed,thoughtful young parson. Wide apart in birth,in type of education, in their contacts with the world,they were