“I’ve got it!” he cried.  “Why not call my paper The Nine-Tenths?”

“Good!”

He began to plan aloud as the quick thoughts flashed.

“An eight-page paper—­weekly.  An editorial, giving some of the plain facts about civilization—­simple stuff to teach the people what industry means, what their work means, what they ought to be doing.  Then news—­news about all movements toward freedom—­labor, strikes, reform, new laws, schools—­news of all the forces working for betterment—­a concrete statement of where the world stands to-day and what it is doing.  But a fair sheet, mother.  No railing, no bitterness, no bomb-throwing.  Plenty of horse sense, plenty of banking the fires, of delaying wisely.  No setting class against class.  No under-rating of leaders and captains.  Justice, but plenty of mercy.  Facts, but plenty of philosophy to cool ’em off.  Progress all the time, but no French revolutions.  And when sides must be taken, no dishonest compromises, no cowardly broad—­mindedness—­but always with the weakest, the under dog, whenever their cause is good.  That’s my programme; that’s The Nine-Tenths.”

“Of course,” said his mother, “you’ll see things clearer as you do them.  There’ll be changes.”

“Surely!” His mind was already miles ahead.  “Mother, I’ve got it now, for sure!”

“What now?” She laughed, enthusiastically.

“Isn’t this a whopper?  No ads.”

“But why not, Joe?  That would support the paper.”

“No, not a line.  I don’t expect the paper to pay.  That’s where our money comes in.  We mustn’t carry a line.  Don’t you see?  There’s hardly a paper in the land that is free.  They’re influenced by their advertising—­that’s their bread and butter.  And even if they’re not influenced, people suspect they are.  We must be free even of that suspicion.  We can be free—­utterly so—­say what we please—­speak our minds out—­and nothing to hinder us.  That will be unique—­that will be something new in magazines.  We’ll go the limit, mother.”

His mother laughed.

“I guess you’re right, Joe.  It’s worth trying.  But how are you going to circulate the paper?”

“How?” Again his mind jumped forward.  “House-to-house canvass—­labor unions—­street corners.  I’m going to dig in now, get acquainted with the people round about, spread it any old way.  And I’m going to start with the idea of a big future—­twenty thousand copies finally.  You see, it’ll be a sort of underground newspaper—­no publicity—­but spreading from group to group among the workers.  Broadway and up-town will never see a copy.”