said, "with these boys, it makes discipline difficult."
"Joke!" exclaimed Mr. H., "good heavens, I wasn't joking; how do I know
that to-morrow he will not be the editor of the _Daily Mail_?"

This story has a real importance. It emphasizes a remarkable
characteristic of Lord Northcliffe's variability. It emphasizes the
romantic quality of his mind. Nothing would please him more than to
discover in one of his office boys an editor for _The Times_. His own
life has given him almost a novelette's passion for romance. He lives in
that atmosphere. Few men I have known are so free from snobbishness or
so indifferent to the petty conventions of society. The dull life of the
world is hateful to him. He would make not only the journalism of the
suburbs sensational, he would make the history of mankind a fairy-story.

It is difficult to understand his power in the world. He is not the
great organizer that people suppose; all the organization of his
business has been done by Lord Rothermere, a very able man of business;
nor is he the inspirational genius one is so often asked to believe. Mr.
Kennedy Jones is largely responsible for the journalistic fortunes of
Lord Northcliffe.

I am disposed to think that it is the romantic quality of his mind which
is the source of his power. All the men about him are unimaginative
realists. He is the artist in command of the commercial mind, the poet
flogging dull words into a kind of wild music. Mr. Kennedy Jones could
have started any of his papers, but he could never have imparted to them
that living spirit of the unexpected which has kept them so effectually
from dulness. Carmelite House could give the news of the world without
Lord Northcliffe's help, but without his passion for the twists and
turns of the fairy-story it could never have presented that news so that
it catches the attention of all classes.

I have never been conscious of greatness in Lord Northcliffe, but I have
never failed to feel in his mind something unusual and remarkable. He is
not an impressive person, but he is certainly an interesting person. One
feels that he has preserved by some magic of temperament, not to be
analyzed by the most skilful of psychologists, the spirit of boyhood.
You may notice this spirit quite visibly in his face. The years leave
few marks on his handsome countenance. He loves to frown and depress his
lips before the camera, for, like a child, he loves to play at being
somebody else, and so