Free The Americans by John Jakes

Gideon called him with great sarcasm-had been outraged by some of Wilde's earlier pronouncements, and had written the Boston newspapers in an effort to persuade the literary community to ignore him when he came to town. In response, Gideon invited Wilde to dine. He'd asked Howells to join them to make sure Stedman was properly affronted. Oscar Wilde had turned out to be a moon-faced, brown- eyed chap. He had lank, dark hair which hung around his ears, and a manner that was languid and faintly decadent. But there was something delightful about him, too. Entering the United States, he'd told them at the dinner table, he had been questioned by customs officials. "I replied that I had nothing to declare except my genius." After reading Wilde's letter, Gideon put it aside to save. Then he turned to the competitive newspapers delivered every day by special messenger from New York. He spent an hour with the papers. Buried in a back column of the Times he found an item about a new type of outdoor pageant being tried out in Omaha by Buffalo Bill Cody. Something called a Wild West show. The Times was too dignified to give it more than a paragraph, but Gideon quickly got on the telegraph transmitter which served in lieu of a telephone. The private wire linked the house with the editorial rooms of the Union down on Park Row. Gideon had taught himself telegraphy so he wouldn't have to rely on intermediaries to transmit confidential instructions. He clicked off his message. Five minutes later, he received confirmation that a reporter would be dispatched to Omaha to see the outdoor show and write an article about it. The Union needed a steady supply of colorful copy. Theo Payne, the paper's superb editor, was nearing seventy, but his judgment was as keen as ever. He constantly reminded his employer that competition among New York dailies was intensifying every day. Neither Payne nor Gideon was as smug as some newspapermen about the arrival of Joe Pulitzer, who was taking over the World. Like Gideon, Pulitzer was something of a crusader. But Pulitzer also had fewer scruples about printing items of a sensational or sordid nature. He knew how to get a newspaper read by those who counted most-ordinary people. Now Gideon proceeded to write down some thoughts for a long, long letter to Payne on the subject of trying to enliven all sections of the paper. A last glance at the Times brought a smile to Gideon's face. Eleanor was mentioned in the column headed Theatrical Gossip. In fact she was referred to as "one of the country's most talented young actresses." In the next line, her name was linked romantically with one of her fellow players, "the handsome Mr. Leo Goldman." Leo Goldman had pursued Eleanor ever since they were young members of an amateur theater club in New York City. Leo would marry Eleanor eventually, Gideon supposed. He admired Leo, who was talented, ambitious and bright. But he hated to think of Eleanor being forced to deal with bigotry all her life, as she surely would be if she became the wife of someone of the Jewish faith. And of course, the more deeply she involved herself in the theater, the less interested she would be in the affairs of the Kents. His last task was to write a special editorial for the Union. It had been stewing in his head for weeks. In three quick paragraphs, he reiterated the Union's endorsement of the Pendleton Act, which had become law over President Arthur's signature in January. The act removed about twelve percent of Federal jobs from the realm of patronage and made them subject to competitive examinations. It also established a commission to oversee the civil service. The snivel service, as one of the act's disgruntled opponents, Senator Roscoe Conkling, called it. The act had been passed as a direct result of President Garfield's assassination in '81. The president had been shot by a man named Charles Guiteau, who had expected a Federal patronage job and failed to get it. Gideon's editorial lashed