Enjoying Life

Wandering into the main dining room of the Ritz-Carlton Hotel of an evening you may find him. There he is -tall, sober, the perfect bachelor, who has attained years of discretion. Like a gracious prince -for he is a man of distinction -he frequents this semi-public haunt, where ever and again appear the potentates with whom he may speak on terms of equality.

This, he thinks, is that which should accompany old age. Theodore, the headwaiter, bows. The distinguished bachelor strolls in. Perhaps, this evening, he will join two or three men friends for dinner. He orders well, discriminatingly. He enjoys his meal in leisure. Toward its close he rises to pay calls on half a dozen distinguished friends at neighboring tables. Here he speaks with a gentleman and his wife. They are perhaps Mr. and Mrs. James M. Thomson, son-in-law and daughter of the late Champ Clark. At another table, he pauses to chat with a handsome man in his fifties; certainly it is James W. Gerard. He returns to his table and sips his coffee.

Finally, he rises. The waiter bows, hopes the dinner has been satisfactory. The distinguished bachelor nods his acknowledgment. He slowly makes his way out.

He has dined well. He has dined becomingly. He has dined artistically. He has dined in a manner that is entirely fitting for the publisher, Frank Andrew Munsey.

Yes, Mr. Munsey has attained his pinnacle and he is enjoying it. What else, for example, is there but enjoyment in the short leading editorial which of late The Sun (Manhattan) has taken to? They are such editorials as the squire himself would write. No one of the hired under-wardens of the editorial page would dare to write so. For example:

From a survey of the national political situation and considering strictly the facts in the situation as they stand today, The Sun has this to say: etc.

(Very much "I am Sir Oracle." None of Mr. Munsey's hired vendors of opinion could dare such supererogation.)

And later, after Mr. Untermyer had replied to an editorial attack, this appeared:

We thought we knew fairly well what the expression "reeking with the taint of special privilege" meant, but so long as MR. UNTERMYER contends that we don't know what it means we must content ourselves with saying that it sounded like hell.

(Simple profanity.)

What better way is there of enjoying a benevolent old age than to say bluntly what one thinks ? A long and honorable career excuses it.