ON THE NEW YORK HERALD 



drive. James Gordon Bennett was a man I had 

 looked forward for many years to meeting. He had 

 been such an interesting personality to those in any 

 way connected with journalism. I had been given 

 one word of advice : that he was nearly sure to ask me 

 before the end of the interview whether I wanted any 

 money, and that it would be wise in any circumstances 

 to say " No," that there was no necessity for it. I was 

 shown into a library and presently in came a tall figure 

 with a grey moustache and inscrutable face with eyes 

 it was next to impossible to penetrate. He looked at 

 me and I looked at him — noticing he wore his good 

 clothes well. Then he spoke. He was interested in 

 the sport in the Herald ; he had read mine he told me. 

 Then followed a discussion about terms. I was to 

 receive a fixed salary for the racing article and paid 

 for space on other work which was to be put in my 

 way. Then came the question of a nom de plume. 

 He asked me if I had any ideas, and I gave them, but 

 somehow I felt it would be one of his selection. Even- 

 tually he said : " Lord Roberts is in the public eye just 

 at present more than anyone else, what do you think 

 of 'Bobs'?" It seemed admirable, and I told him 

 so, and so it was settled. He added that I could take 

 a day or so and go to Monte Carlo. Inevitably came 

 the question which I had been told would be put : 

 " Do you want any money ? " he asked, taking a big 

 roll of notes out of his pocket. " No, thanks, Mr 

 Bennett ; it is very kind of you, all the same." One 

 or two generalities ?nd I could see the twenty minutes 

 we had talked was long enough ; so, trying to catch a 

 glimpse which should tell me more of the inner mind 

 of the magnate than others knew, I thanked him and 

 walked out with a permanent job. I was impressed, 

 too, with the man : it is inevitable to be so. At that 



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