And vaguely, little by little, he came to a realization of how
while he had slumbered the life of the country had swept on. For as he
studied the lists and the letters of his patrons, Roger felt confusedly
that a new America was here.
Clippings, clippings, clippings. Business men and business firms, gigantic
corporations, kept sending here for clippings, news of themselves or their
rivals, keeping keen watch on each other's affairs for signs of strength or
weakness. How savage was the fight these days. Here was news of mines and
mills and factories all over the land, clippings sent each morning by
special messengers downtown to reach the brokers' offices before the market
opened. One broker wrote, "Please quote your terms for the following. From
nine to two o'clock each day our messenger will call at your office every
hour for clippings giving information of the companies named below."
The long list appended carried Roger's fancy out all over the continent.
And then came this injunction: "Remember that our messenger must leave your
office every hour. In information of this kind every minute counts."
Clippings, clippings, clippings. As Roger turned over his morning mail, in
spite of himself he grew absorbed. What a change in the world of
literature. What a host of names of scribblers, not authors but just
writers, not only men but women too, novelists and dramatists, poets and
muckrakers all jumbled in together, each one of them straining for a place.
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