ctive
graces of his style. But Rickman on the staff of _Metropolis_ was,
Jewdwine considered, Rickman in the right place. Not only could he now
be allowed to let loose his joyous individuality without prejudice to
the principles of that paper (for the paper strictly speaking would
have no principles), but he was indispensable if it was to preserve
the distinction which its editor still desired. Jewdwine had no need
of the poet; but of the journalistic side of Rickman he had endless
need. It was a baser faculty, but his care must be to develop it, to
train it, to handle it judiciously, until by handling he had made it
pliable to all the uses of his paper. Jewdwine had a genius for
licking young men into shape. He could hardly recognize that band of
awkward and enthusiastic followers in his present highly disciplined
and meritorious staff. None of them were like Rickman; none of them
had done anything to rouse an uneasy suspicion of their genius. Still,
none of them were precisely fitted for his present purpose. Rickman
the poet, of course, you could not lick into shape. His shape, plastic
only under the divine fire, was fashioned by the fingers of the god.
But Rickman the journalist, once get him on to the right journal,
would prove to be made of less unmanageable stuff. If he had not
hitherto proved manageable, that was no doubt because hitherto he had
been employed on the wrong journal.

And yet, when he came to discuss the change of programme with the
different members of his staff (some of whom he was giving their
dismissal), it was with Rickman (whom he proposed to retain) that he
felt the most acute embarrassment. Rickman, although at the moment
dining with Jewdwine, was so abominably direct.

"I see," he said, after listening to a lengthy exposition of the
proprietors' view; "they want to popularize the thing."

Jewdwine winced perceptibly. "Well, hardly," said he. "In that case
they would have been obliged to change their editor. We certainly want
to draw a rather larger public than we have done; and to do that we
must make _some_ concessions to modernity. There's no doubt that the
paper's interests have suffered from its tradition. We have been too
exclusive, too detached. We can no longer afford to be detached. We
propose to abandon the tradition in favour of--well--of a somewhat
broader attitude." He looked keenly at Rickman, as if he defied him to
put it any other way.

"I see. We've either got to take a