Punctually to the minute I was shown into the Editor's room, where again
I was struck by the imaginative adequacy of the surroundings. Before
coming to the man himself let me say something of these. The floor was
not bare or even sprinkled with sawdust, as it might easily have been,
but it was covered by a comfortable carpet, probably from Axminster.
Comfort was indeed the note. The desk was neither pitch pine nor teak,
but mahogany. Upon it were scattered papers--lightly scattered, although
no doubt each was of the most momentous, even tragical import, some
bearing the signatures of the most eminent publicists in the land. Yet,
such is the domination of this man, they lay there like circulars or
election addresses. In the ink-pot was ink. A date rack was proof that
the Editor is not superior to the artificial divisions of time.
As I entered, his back was towards me, but none the less I was conscious
of power, distinction, a man apart. I have seen many backs, but none
more notable than this. Turning he revealed to the full the wonder and
mystery of his famous frown--the frown of Jupiter Tonans. Much has been
said of this frown, but since no analysis has yet appeared in print I
must be permitted to offer one. To begin with, the frown is not only on
his face, but (one instinctively knows) all over him.
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