Jane Carter Investigates Episode One-Hundred and Nine
“I rather doubt it,” I told my father.
“He has a prospective tenant now, only he doesn’t know it.”
“Indeed? Who?”
“You’re looking at her.”
“You!” Dad smiled broadly.
“I have it all planned,” I announced
with quiet finality. “What this town needs is a good weekly story magazine, and
an imaginative editress to run it.”
“Oh, I see.” Dad seemed to be having
difficulty keeping a straight face. “And where do you propose to establish your
weekly story magazine? In the old Press building?”
“You took the words right out of my
mouth, Dad. Everything is there, awaiting the touch of my magic wand.”
“There is the little matter of rent. I
fear the going rate for a building that size would be nearly a thousand a
month.”
“I have a solution for that problem.”
“Your staff?”
“I’ll gather it as I prosper.”
“The necessary capital?”
“A mere detail,” I said. “I meet only
one obstacle at a time. Tomorrow, I shall accost Mr. Vaughn with an attractive
proposition. If he falls into my net, Greenville’s newest commercial concern, Carter’s Weekly All-Story Magazine,
makes its bow to the public.”
“My dear lady, do I understand you
correctly? You are asking for the use of the Morning Press building
without any payment of rent.”
Mr. Vaughn, slightly bald and with a
bulging waistline, gazed at me in disbelief across his polished mahogany desk.
Upon arriving at his office that morning, he had found me awaiting him. For the
past ten minutes, I had stunned him with my remarkable figures and plans.
“Yes, that’s about the size of it,” I
acknowledged. “What this nation needs are more literary magazines unhampered by
the conservatism of over-aged minds and the narrow viewpoint of the purely male
perspective. Now you have a fine building and equipment which is standing idle,
fast falling into decay—”
“Decay?” Mr. Vaughn inquired.
“Expensive machinery soon rusts and
becomes practically worthless unless kept in use,” I declared with authority.
“If you’ll agree to my proposition, I’ll publish a weekly story paper there,
see that your property is kept in good condition, and turn the plant back to
you whenever you can find a prosperous renter.”
“Your father sent you here?”
“Oh, goodness, no! Dad thinks it’s all
a great joke. But it isn’t. I am confident I can make a success of a weekly
story magazine if only I have a chance to test my ideas.”
“I wish I could help you start your
magazine,” Mr. Vaughn said. “However, I doubt if you comprehend the cost of
such a venture. Even should I permit the use of my building rent free, how
would you meet such expenses as light, water and heat?”
“Oh, I have a plan for everything,” I
insisted. “All I need is the use of the building. I’ll have the windows washed
for you and do a good job of house cleaning. With me in charge, you’ll be able
to dismiss your watchman.”
“I haven’t any watchman.”
“No watchman?” I said with feigned
incredulity. “Last night when I drove past the building I saw a light on the
third floor. Evidently someone is prowling about there, Mr. Vaughn.”
“You’re certain you saw a light?” Mr.
Vaughn appeared disturbed.
“Oh, yes, indeed. Excuse me for
advising you, Mr. Vaughn, but you really should have someone to guard your
property.”
Mr. Vaughn smiled broadly. “You are a
very convincing young lady. While I realize it is a foolish thing to do, I am
tempted to let you have the key.”
“Oh, Mr. Vaughn, that’s wonderful!
You’ll never regret it!”
“I’ll allow you the use of the building
for a month,” resumed Mr. Vaughn. “At the end of that time, we’ll discuss the
future.”
I was thrown into such a frenzy of
excitement that I could scarcely remain outwardly serene until I had left the
office. Once on the street, I ran the entire distance to the Examiner building
and dashed into my father’s suite with all the sound effects of a laboring
steam engine.
“Dad!” I cried dramatically. “I have
it. The key to the Morning Press plant. Now I’m on my way to withdraw my
savings from the bank.”
“What’s that? Don’t tell me Mr. Vaughn
listened to your crazy scheme.”
“He’s heartily in favor of it,” I
informed my father. “Now I must rush off to the bank.”
“Come back here,” Dad ordered, “It
would be foolhardy to withdraw Timothy’s life insurance money. That’s earmarked
for your old age. You know you’ll never be capable of growing much of a nest
egg on what you can make from writing serials. I fully intend to leave you
everything I’ve got when I go, but life is unpredictable. The time may come
when you’ll have to rely upon the money Timothy left you.”
“That’s just my point,” I insisted. “I
yearn to be fully self-sufficient, but how can I ever become self-sufficient on
the pittance I’m paid for writing serials for other people? No, I intend to cut
out the middlemen and publish directly to the masses. That’s why I want to
start my own magazine, but how can I launch Carter’s
All-Story Weekly without capital?”
“You’re really determined to try it?”
“Of course.”
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