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In two weeks I was the editor of the paper. That was not a vote of
confidence, but pure economy on the part of my owners. They saved
forty dollars a week by giving me twenty-five and the name of
editor. The idea of an editor in anything but the name I do not
suppose had ever entered their minds. Theirs was an "organ," and for
the purposes for which they had started it they thought themselves
abundantly able to run it. I, on my part, quickly grew high notions
of editorial independence. Their purposes had nothing to do with it.
The two views proved irreconcilable. They clashed quite regularly,
and perhaps it was as much that they were tired of the editor as
that the paper was a drag upon them that made them throw it up after
the fall elections, in which they won. The press and the engine
were seized for debt. The last issue of the _South Brooklyn News_
had been put upon the street, and I went to the city to make
a bargain with the foundryman for the type. It was in the closing
days of the year. Christmas was at the door, with its memories.


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