The Superman in the Street By Sidney Dark Editor of John O' London's Weekly With an Introduction by Heywood Broun G. P. Putnam's Sons Grad 40594749 Repla 11-7-01 Repl AN AMERICAN FOREWORD For years I longed to meet Wells, but in somewhat the same way that I longed to go up in an aeroplane. The possibility that terror might kill the fun was always in my mind. When he came to America he proved to be less awe-inspiring than even a little army with banners. Fortunately, he was somewhat whittled down by the fact that his mission was journalism. After all we were both newspaper men. The executives of "The Morning World" referred to him as "our junior reporter' and he accepted the title with an air which was whimsical and yet a little proud. Still, even as a cub reporter Wells remained somewhat too dazzling for my comfort. "This is Mr. Wells," said Herbert Swope as he swung around a corner of the office labyrinth towing his latest contributor. All the copyreaders on our paper are bigger than Wells and the executive editor can give him three octaves handicap any evening and roar him down, but to me his journalistic job could not hide the magnificent and disconcerting fact that this was the man who had done a history of Mr. Polly and, later, of the world. I felt a little sorry that my distant ancestors, in accordance with the Wellsian plan, had contrived to crawl up out of the ooze and begin a simple life upon the beaches. My line should have remained under water until I was more callous to the presence of celebrities. I could not forget that Wells had practically flicked Cleopatra out of history with a little finger, stooped low to look at Cæsar, and thumbed his nose at Napoleon. And so I bowed and ran back to the private office which I share with four other men. These reminiscences are not entirely irrelevant because among other things Wells has a fundamental geniality and common humanity. This may not be altogether necessary to the man of genius but it is distinctive. In proof of his possession of these qualities I offer in evidence the fact that a week later I was boldly asking, "Mr. Wells, who are the five greatest living writers in England?" or some other question equally foolish and statistical. And he answered. It was about that time that I sat and heard another newspaper man from the "World" (an exalted one but no matter) cut into the middle of an |