XVII

A YELLOW JOURNAL

Mr. Skaggs had no qualms of conscience about the manner in which he had come by the damaging evidence against Maurice Oakley.  It was enough for him that he had it.  A corporation, he argued, had no soul, and therefore no conscience.  How much less, then, should so small a part of a great corporation as himself be expected to have them?

He had his story.  It was vivid, interesting, dramatic.  It meant the favour of his editor, a big thing for the Universe, and a fatter lining for his own pocket.  He sat down to put his discovery on paper before he attempted anything else, although the impulse to celebrate was very strong within him.

He told his story well, with an eye to every one of its salient points.  He sent an alleged picture of Berry Hamilton as he had appeared at the time of his arrest.  He sent a picture of the Oakley home and of the cottage where the servant and his family had been so happy.  There was a strong pen-picture of the man, Oakley, grown haggard and morose from carrying his guilty secret, of his confusion when confronted with the supposed knowledge of it.  The old Southern city was described, and the opinions of its residents in regard to the case given.  It was there—­clear, interesting, and strong.  One could see it all as if every phase of it were being enacted before one’s eyes.  Skaggs surpassed himself.

When the editor first got hold of it he said “Huh!” over the opening lines,—­a few short sentences that instantly pricked the attention awake.  He read on with increasing interest.  “This is good stuff,” he said at the last page.  “Here ’s a chance for the Universe to look into the methods of Southern court proceedings.  Here ’s a chance for a spread.”

The Universe had always claimed to be the friend of all poor and oppressed humanity, and every once in a while it did something to substantiate its claim, whereupon it stood off and said to the public, “Look you what we have done, and behold how great we are, the friend of the people!” The Universe was yellow.  It was very so.  But it had power and keenness and energy.  It never lost an opportunity to crow, and if one was not forthcoming, it made one.  In this way it managed to do a considerable amount of good, and its yellowness became forgivable, even commendable.  In Skaggs’s story the editor saw an opportunity for one of its periodical philanthropies.  He seized upon it.  With headlines that took half a page, and with cuts authentic and otherwise, the tale was told, and the people of New York were greeted next morning with the announcement of—­

“A Burning Shame!

A Poor and Innocent Negro made to Suffer

for a Rich Man’s Crime!

Great Expose by the ‘Universe’!

A ‘Universe’ Reporter To the Rescue!

The Whole Thing to Be Aired that the