life. He had long thought he knew a good deal about the make-up of a
paper,--what would interest and what would not; in fact, he considered
himself an expert in that sphere. He had put years of study into the
matter. Even now he would not have been willing to confess that a
seventeen-year-old boy had taught him anything. That would have been
quite beneath his dignity. But privately he could not deny that this
schoolboy adventurer had opened his eyes to a number of things he had
never considered before.

The _Echo_ was a conservative, old-fashioned paper that had followed
tradition rather than the lead of an alert, progressive public. From a
pinnacle of confident superiority it had spoken to the people, telling
them what they should think, rather than giving ear to their groping and
clamoring desire for a hearing. The _Echo_ never discussed questions
with its readers. Its editor had never deigned to do so, so why should
his publication? To bicker, argue, and debate would have been entirely
at odds with its standards. People did not need to state what opinions
they held; they merely needed to be told what opinions they should hold.
Thus thought Mr. Arthur Presby Carter, and thus had his policy been
immortalized in his paper.

But now, to his amazement and chagrin, a publication had been born that
was undermining his prestige and putting to naught his creeds and
theories. This absurd _March Hare_ was actually becoming the authorized
mouthpiece of the town. It would have been blind not to recognize the
fact. Fools had indeed rushed in where angels feared to tread, as Mr.
Carter himself had jeeringly asserted they sometimes did, and as a
result there had come into being this unique monthly whose subscription
list was constantly swelling.

The publisher shrugged his shoulders. He was a shrewd business man. He
had, he confessed to himself, been trapped into printing this amateur
thing, and once trapped he had been game enough to live up to his
contract; but he had always viewed the new magazine with a patronizing
scorn. For a press of the _Echo's_ reputation to be printing a silly
High School publication had never ceased to be an absurdity in his eyes.
He had regarded the first issues with derision. Then slowly his disdain
had melted into astonishment, respect, admiration. There evidently was
a spirit in Burmingham of which he had never suspected the
existence,--an intelligence, an open-mindedness, a searching after
truth.