furnish the time," suggested Van Dorn, sawing at his meat, "if Barry'll put up the capital."
Barrifield looked up quickly.
"I'll do it!" he announced eagerly; "I'll do it!"
The others showed immediate interest. Barrifield looked from one to the other, repeating his assertion as if signing a verbal contract. Then his gaze wandered off into nowhere, and he absently fed himself and waited for the spirit to move further.
"I'll furnish the capital," he continued deliberately, at length, "and it won't be money, either." The three faces watching him fell. "That is, not much money. It'll take a little, of course. I think I know where I could get all the money I want – a dozen places, yes, fifty of them. But this isn't a money scheme. If it was I could get it. I know any number of men, capitalists, that would jump at it. But that isn't what we want. We want men who know what a paper is, and can do the work themselves."
"We want a good advertising man first," said Perner the businesslike.
"That's good sense," assented Barrifield, at which Perner felt complimented and began to assume proprietary airs.
"Those things we can hire," Barrifield continued. "We shall want several men in clerical and executive positions. The general direction and management of affairs we shall, of course, attend to personally. We could get a business manager with all the money we need if we wanted him, but he'd be some fellow with no appreciation of the kind of a paper we intend to make, and would try to cut down and stick to old methods until he choked the plan, just as many a good plan has been killed before."
The third bottle of champagne had been opened.
"That's exactly right," declared Perner, as he lifted his glass, while the others nodded. "Half the periodicals running to-day are starved and killed by the business office. Why, MacWilliams of 'Dawn' told me yesterday that he couldn't buy that Easter poem of mine just because there had been a kick down-stairs on the twenty-five he paid me for the Christmas thing, and – "
"What's your scheme, Barry?" interrupted Van Dorn, who did not want Perner to get started on the perennial subject of editorial wrongs.
Barrifield filled his glass and drained it very slowly. Then he set it down and wiped his lips with his napkin. The waiter brought coffee and cigars. He selected a long, dark Panetela, and lighted it with the air of one making ready to unburden himself of deep wisdom.
"Did any of – you – fellows," he began, puffing the smoke into the air and following it with his eyes, "ever hear of a man named Frisby? Did you, Perny? Did you, Stony?" dropping his eyes from one to the other.
"I have," said Van Dorn. "Runs a paper called the 'Voice of Light,' with prize packages and the worst illustrations in the world."
"That's the man!" assented Barrifield. "Old friend of mine. Yankee by birth, and one of the keenest publishers in the country. That paper, the 'Voice of Light,' has a circulation of nearly one half-million copies!"
"He ought to get better pictures, then," grunted Van Dorn.
"Exactly!" nodded Barrifield. "And that's one place we'll improve on Frisby's scheme."
"I didn't suppose religious papers ever had schemes," observed Livingstone.
Barrifield grinned.
"Did you ever see a copy of the 'Voice'?" he asked.
"I have," said Perner. "It offers twenty-five dollars' worth of books and a trip to the Holy Land for one year's subscription."
"That's it! That's the paper!" laughed Barrifield.
"But our paper won't be a religious paper, will it, old man?" asked Livingstone, anxiously.
"Not in the sense of being ecclesiastic. It will be pure in morals and tone, of course, and, at the same time, artistic and beautiful – such a paper as the 'Youth's Friend,' only larger in its scope. It will, as I have said before, appeal to the whole family, young and old, and that is another improvement we'll make on Frisby's scheme."
"What's the price of Frisby's paper?" asked Perner.
"Two dollars a year. Poor matter, poor pictures, poor paper, poor printing, poor prizes, and two dollars a year. We'll give them high-class matter, high-class pictures, fine printing, beautiful paper, splendid prizes, all for one dollar a year; and that's where we'll make the third and great improvement on Frisby's scheme."
"But how'll you do it without money, Barry? That's the improvement we want," laughed Livingstone.
"That," said Barrifield, letting his voice become a whisper once more – "that isn't an improvement. That's Frisby's scheme!"
II
FRISBY'S SCHEME
Barrifield lighted a fresh cigar and blew more smoke into the air.
"Frisby told me himself," he said drowsily, and apparently recalling certain details from the blue curling wreaths. "I lent him money and helped him into a position when he first came here, and he's never forgotten it. He held the position five years and learned the publishing business. Then he started the 'Voice of Light.' He did it without a dollar. He told me so."
Livingstone leaned forward eagerly.
"But I say, old man, how did he do it, then?"
"Nerve. Nerve and keen insight into humanity. The 'Voice of Light' had been started by some fellows who had spent all their money trying to build it up on the old lines and failed completely. They had tried to sell out, but nobody would have it. They had no assets – nothing but debts.
"Then they tried to give it away. They tried a good while. Frisby heard of it at last, and went over and said they might give it to him. They did it. He didn't have a dollar.
"He had some good clothes, though, and he put them on. He put on the best he had, and he went over to the printers. The 'Voice' owed them a good bill, and they were glad to hear the paper had changed hands. Their account couldn't get any worse, and Frisby's clothes and manner indicated that it might become better. He told them he contemplated getting out at once a special edition of a million copies. He intimated that if they couldn't handle such a number of papers he would be obliged to arrange for them elsewhere. They almost hugged Frisby's knees to keep him from going. He didn't have a dollar – not a dollar.
"Then he went across to an advertising agency and engaged a page in the 'Great Home Monthly' and a page in the biggest Sunday-school paper in the world. He asked them the discount for cash, and their special figures to compare with those of other agencies. They looked at his good clothes and sized up his talk, which was to the point and no waste words. They booked his order for four thousand dollars' worth of advertising – quick, before he changed his mind. He didn't have a dollar. He told me so.
"He went up to the Cambridge Bible Company – biggest Bible concern in the world – and asked for cash figures on a quarter of a million Bibles. They thought he was crazy at first, but they made a figure before he went away that was less than a third what the same Bible sold for at retail the world over. They told him they had only half the order on hand. He said that those would do to start with, and that he would let them know when to begin delivering. He would send over a check when he wanted the first lot. They said that settlement on the 1st of each month would do. He did that all in one day, – he told me so, – and he didn't have a dollar – not a dollar."
Barrifield paused and looked from one to the other to note the effect of his statements. The three listeners were waiting eagerly for more. Livingstone and Van Dorn were watching his lips for the next word to issue. Perner was gazing into his glass, but there was a slight flush and a look of deep reflection on his face. Barrifield maintained silence, and the sense of his importance grew powerfully with each second. By and by his eyes half closed and drifted vaguely into the unseen. Livingstone promptly recalled him.
"But go on with the story, old man. What was the next step? It's no fair play to get us all worked up this way and then go to sleep."
Barrifield chuckled lazily.
"That's all," he said; "the rest is mere detail. Frisby went home and got up copy for his advertising.