When The Rose of Dixie magazine was started by a stock company in Toombs City, Georgia, there was never but one candidate for its chief editorial position in the minds of its owners. Col. Aquila Telfair was the man for the place. By all the rights of learning, family, reputation, and Southern traditions, he was its foreordained, fit, and logical editor. So, a committee of the patriotic1 Georgia citizens who had subscribed2 the founding fund of $100,000 called upon Colonel Telfair at his residence, Cedar3 Heights, fearful lest the enterprise and the South should suffer by his possible refusal.
The colonel received them in his great library, where he spent most of his days. The library had descended4 to him from his father. It contained ten thousand volumes, some of which had been published as late as the year 1861. When the deputation arrived, Colonel Telfair was seated at his massive white-pine centre-table, reading Burton's Anatomy5 of Melancholy6. He arose and shook hands punctiliously7 with each member of the committee. If you were familiar with The Rose of Dixie you will remember the colonel's portrait, which appeared in it from time to time. You could not forget the long, carefully brushed white hair; the hooked, high-bridged nose, slightly twisted to the left; the keen eyes under the still black eyebrows8; the classic mouth beneath the drooping9 white mustache, slightly frazzled at the ends.
The committee solicitously10 offered him the position of managing editor, humbly11 presenting an outline of the field that the publication was designed to cover and mentioning a comfortable salary. The colonel's lands were growing poorer each year and were much cut up by red gullies. Besides, the honor was not one to be refused.
In a forty-minute speech of acceptance, Colonel Telfair gave an outline of English literature from Chaucer to Macaulay, re-fought the battle of Chancellorsville, and said that, God helping12 him, he would so conduct The Rose of Dixie that its fragrance13 and beauty would permeate14 the entire world, hurling15 back into the teeth of the Northern minions16 their belief that no genius or good could exist in the brains and hearts of the people whose property they had destroyed and whose rights they had curtailed17.
Offices for the magazine were partitioned off and furnished in the second floor of the First National Bank building; and it was for the colonel to cause The Rose of Dixie to blossom and flourish or to wilt18 in the balmy air of the land of flowers.
The staff of assistants and contributors that Editor-Colonel Telfair drew about him was a peach. It was a whole crate20 of Georgia peaches. The first assistant editor, Tolliver Lee Fairfax, had had a father killed during Pickett's charge. The second assistant, Keats Unthank, was the nephew of one of Morgan's Raiders. The book reviewer, Jackson Rockingham, had been the youngest soldier in the Confederate army, having appeared on the field of battle with a sword in one hand and a milk-bottle in the other. The art editor, Roncesvalles Sykes, was a third cousin to a nephew of Jefferson Davis. Miss Lavinia Terhune, the colonel's stenographer21 and typewriter, had an aunt who had once been kissed by Stonewall Jackson. Tommy Webster, the head office-boy, got his job by having recited Father Ryan's poems, complete, at the commencement exercises of the Toombs City High School. The girls who wrapped and addressed the magazines were members of old Southern families in Reduced Circumstances. The cashier was a scrub named Hawkins, from Ann Arbor22, Michigan, who had recommendations and a bond from a guarantee company filed with the owners. Even Georgia stock companies sometimes realize that it takes live ones to bury the dead.
Well, sir, if you believe me, The Rose of Dixie blossomed five times before anybody heard of it except the people who buy their hooks and eyes in Toombs City. Then Hawkins climbed off his stool and told on 'em to the stock company. Even in Ann Arbor he had been used to having his business propositions heard of at least as far away as Detroit. So an advertising23 manager was engaged -- Beauregard Fitzhugh Banks, a young man in a lavender necktie, whose grandfather had been the Exalted24 High Pillow-slip of the Kuklux Klan.
In spite of which The Rose of Dixie kept coming out every month. Although in every issue it ran photos of either the Taj Mahal or the Luxembourg Gardens, or Carmencita or La Follette, a certain number of people bought it and subscribed for it. As a boom for it, Editor- Colonel Telfair ran three different views of Andrew Jackson's old home, "The Hermitage," a full-page engraving25 of the second battle of Manassas, entitled "Lee to the Rear!" and a five-thousand-word biography of Belle26 Boyd in the same number. The subscription27 list that month advanced 118. Also there were poems in the same issue by Leonina Vashti Haricot (pen-name), related to the Haricots of Charleston, South Carolina, and Bill Thompson, nephew of one of the stockholders. And an article from a special society correspondent describing a tea-party given by the swell28 Boston and English set, where a lot of tea was spilled overboard by some of the guests masquerading as Indians.
One day a person whose breath would easily cloud a mirror, he was so much alive, entered the office of The Rose of Dixie. He was a man about the size of a real-estate agent, with a self-tied tie and a manner that he must have borrowed conjointly from W J. Bryan, Hackenschmidt, and Hetty Green. He was shown into the editor- colonel's pons asinorum. Colonel Telfair rose and began a Prince Albert bow.
"I'm Thacker," said the intruder, taking the editor's chair--"T. T. Thacker, of New York."
He dribbled29 hastily upon the colonel's desk some cards, a bulky manila envelope, and a letter from the owners of The Rose of Dixie. This letter introduced Mr. Thacker, and politely requested Colonel Telfair to give him a conference and whatever information about the magazine he might desire.
"I've been corresponding with the secretary of the magazine owners for some time," said Thacker, briskly. "I'm a practical magazine man myself, and a circulation booster as good as any, if I do say it. I'll guarantee an increase of anywhere from ten thousand to a hundred thousand a year for any publication that isn't printed in a dead language. I've had my eye on The Rose of Dixie ever since it started. I know every end of the business from editing to setting up the classified ads. Now, I've come down here to put a good bunch of money in the magazine, if I can see my way clear. It ought to be made to pay. The secretary tells me it's losing money. I don't see why a magazine in the South, if it's properly handled, shouldn't get a good circulation in the North, too.
"Colonel Telfair leaned back in his chair and polished his gold-rimmed glasses.
"Mr. Thacker," said he, courteously30 but firmly, "The Rose of Dixie is a publication devoted31 to the fostering and the voicing of Southern genius. Its watchword, which you may have seen on the cover, is 'Of, For, and By the South.'"
"But you wouldn't object to a Northern circulation, would you?" asked Thacker.
"I suppose," said the editor-colonel, "that it is customary to open the circulation lists to all. I do not know. I have nothing to do with the business affairs of the magazine. I was called upon to assume editorial control of it, and I have devoted to its conduct such poor literary talents as I may possess and whatever store of erudition I may have acquired."
"Sure," said Thacker. "But a dollar is a dollar anywhere, North, South, or West--whether you're buying codfish, goober peas, or Rocky Ford32 cantaloupes. Now, I've been looking over your November number. I see one here on your desk. You don't mind running over it with me?
"Well, your leading article is all right. A good write-up of the cotton-belt with plenty of photographs is a winner any time. New York is always interested in the cotton crop. And this sensational33 account of Hatfield-McCoy feud34, by a schoolmate of a niece of the Governor of Kentucky, isn't such a bad idea. It happened so long ago that most people have forgotten it. Now, here's a poem three pages long called 'The Tyrant's Foot,' by Lorella Lascelles. I've pawed around a good deal over manuscripts, but I never saw her name on a rejection35 slip."
"Miss Lascelles," said the editor, "is one of our most widely recognized Southern poetesses. She is closely related to the Alabama Lascelles family, and made with her own hands the silken Confederate banner that was presented to the governor of that state at his inauguration36."
"But why," persisted Thacker, "is the poem illustrated37 with a view of the M. & 0. Railroad freight depot38 at Tuscaloosa?"
"The illustration," said the colonel, with dignity, "shows a corner of the fence surrounding the old homestead where Miss Lascelles was born."
"All right," said Thacker. "I read the poem, but I couldn't tell whether it was about the depot of the battle of Bull Run. Now, here's a short story called 'Rosies' Temptation,' by Fosdyke Piggott. It's rotten. What is a Piggott, anyway?"
"Mr. Piggott," said the editor, "is a brother of the principal stockholder of the magazine."
"All's right with the world--Piggott passes," said Thacker. "Well this article on Arctic exploration and the one on tarpon fishing might go. But how about this write-up of the Atlanta, New Orleans, Nashville, and Savannah breweries39? It seems to consist mainly of statistics about their output and the quality of their beer. What's the chip over the bug40?"
"If I understand your figurative language," answered Colonel Telfair, "it is this: the article you refer to was handed to me by the owners of the magazine with instructions to publish it. The literary quality of it did not appeal to me. But, in a measure, I feel impelled41 to conform, in certain matters, to the wishes of the gentlemen who are interested in the financial side of The Rose."
"I see," said Thacker. "Next we have two pages of selections from 'Lalla Rookh,' by Thomas Moore. Now, what Federal prison did Moore escape from, or what's the name of the F. F. V. family that he carries as a handicap?"
"Moore was an Irish poet who died in 1852," said Colonel Telfair, pityingly. "He is a classic. I have been thinking of reprinting his translation of Anacreon serially43 in the magazine."
"Look out for the copyright laws," said Thacker, flippantly. Who's Bessie Belleclair, who contributes the essay on the newly completed water-works plant in Milledgeville?"
"The name, sir," said Colonel Telfair, "is the nom de guerre of Miss Elvira Simpkins. I have not the honor of knowing the lady; but her contribution was sent to us by Congressman44 Brower, of her native state. Congressman Brower's mother was related to the Polks of Tennessee.
"Now, see here, Colonel," said Thacker, throwing down the magazine, "this won't do. You can't successfully run a magazine for one particular section of the country. You've got to make a universal appeal. Look how the Northern publications have catered45 to the South and encouraged the Southern writers. And you've got to go far and wide for your contributors. You've got to buy stuff according to its quality without any regard to the pedigree of the author. Now, I'll bet a quart of ink that this Southern parlor46 organ you've been running has never played a note that originated about Mason & Hamlin's line. Am I right?"
"I have carefully and conscientiously47 rejected all contributions from that section of the country--if I understand your figurative language aright," replied the colonel.
"All right. Now I'll show you something."
Thacker reached for his thick manila envelope and dumped a mass of typewritten manuscript on the editors desk.
"Here's some truck," said he, "that I paid cash for, and brought along with me."
One by one he folded back the manuscripts and showed their first pages to the colonel.
Here are four short stories four of the highest priced authors in the United States--three of 'em living in New York, and one commuting48. There's a special article on Vienna-bred society by Tom Vampson. Here's an Italian serial42 by Captain Jack--no--it's the other Crawford. Here are three separate exposes of city governments by Sniffings, and here's a dandy entitled 'What Women Carry in Dress-Suit Cases'--a Chicago newspaper woman hired herself out for five years as a lady's maid to get that information. And here's a Synopsis49 of Preceding Chapters of Hall Caine's new serial to appear next June. And here's a couple of pounds of vers de societe that I got at a rate from the clever magazines. That's the stuff that people everywhere want. And now here's a writeup with photographs at the ages of four, twelve, twenty-two, and thirty of George B. McClellan. It's a prognostication. He's bound to be elected Mayor of New York. It '11 make a big hit all over the country. He--"
"I beg your pardon," said Colonel Telfair, stiffening50 in his chair. "What was the name?"
"Oh, I see," said Thacker, with half a grin. Yes, he's a son of the General. We'll pass that manuscript up. But, if you'll excuse me, Colonel, it's a magazine we're trying to make go off--not the first gun at Fort Sumter. Now, here's a thing that's bound to get next to you. It's an original poem by James Whitcomb Riley. J.W. himself. You know what that means to a magazine. I won't tell you what I had to pay for that poem; but I'll tell you this--Riley can make more money writing with a fountain-pen than you or I can with one that lets the ink run. I'll read you the last two stanzas51:
"'Pa lays around 'n' loafs all day,
'N' reads and makes us leave him be.
He lets me do just like I please,
'N' when I'm in bad he laughs at me,
'N' when I holler loud 'n' say
Bad words 'n' then begin to tease
The cat, 'n' pa just smiles, ma's mad
'N' gives me Jesse crost her knees.
I always wondered why that wuz-
I guess it's cause
Pa never does.
"''N' after all the lights are out
I'm sorry 'bout19 it; so I creep
Out of my trundle bed to ma's
'N' say I love her a whole heap,
'N' kiss her, 'n' I hug her tight.
'N' it's too dark to see her eyes,
But every time I do I know
She cries 'n' cries 'n' cries 'n' cries.
I always wondered why that wuz-
I guess it's 'cause
Pa never does.'
"That's the stuff," continued Thacker. "What do you think of that?"
"I am not unfamiliar52 with the works of Mr. Riley," said the colonel, deliberately53. "I believe he lives in Indiana. For the last ten years I have been somewhat of a literary recluse54, and am familiar with nearly all the books in the Cedar Heights library. I am also of the opinion that a magazine should contain a certain amount of poetry. Many of the sweetest singers of the South have already contributed to the pages of The Rose of Dixie. I, myself, have thought of translating from the original for publication in its pages the works of the great Italian poet Tasso. Have you ever drunk from the fountain of this immortal55 poet's lines, Mr. Thacker?"
"Not even a demi-Tasso," said Thacker.
Now, let's come to the point, Colonel Telfair. I've already invested some money in this as a flyer. That bunch of manuscripts cost me $4,000. My object was to try a number of them in the next issue-I believe you make up less than a month ahead--and see what effect it has on the circulation. I believe that by printing the best stuff we can get in the North, South, East, or West we can make the magazine go. You have there the letter from the owning company asking you to co-operate with me in the plan. Let's chuck out some of this slush that you've been publishing just because the writers are related to the Skoopdoodles of Skoopdoodle County. Are you with me?"
"As long as I continue to be the editor of The Rose," said Colonel Telfair, with dignity, "I shall be its editor. But I desire also to conform to the wishes of its owners if I can do so conscientiously."
"That's the talk," said Thacker, briskly. "Now, how much of this stuff I've brought can we get into the January number? We want to begin right away."
"There is yet space in the January number," said the editor, "for about eight thousand words, roughly estimated."
"Great!" said Thacker. "It isn't much, but it'll give the readers some change from goobers, governors, and Gettysburg. I'll leave the selection of the stuff I brought to fill the space to you, as it's all good. I've got to run back to New York, and I'll be down again in a couple of weeks."
Colonel Telfair slowly swung his eye-glasses by their broad, black ribbon.
"The space in the January number that I referred to," said he, measuredly, "has been held open purposely, pending56 a decision that I have not yet made. A short time ago a contribution was submitted to The Rose of Dixie that is one of the most remarkable57 literary efforts that has ever come under my observation. None but a master mind and talent could have produced it. It would just fill the space that I have reserved for its possible use."
Thacker looked anxious.
"What kind of stuff is it?" he asked. "Eight thousand words sounds suspicious. The oldest families must have been collaborating58. Is there going to be another secession ?"
"The author of the article," continued the colonel, ignoring Thacker's allusions59, "is a writer of some reputation. He has also distinguished60 himself in other ways. I do not feel at liberty to reveal to you his name--at least not until I have decided61 whether or not to accept his contribution."
"Well," said Thacker, nervously62, "is it a continued story, or an account of the unveiling of the new town pump in Whitmire, South Carolina, or a revised list of General Lee's body-servants, or what?"
"You are disposed to be facetious," said Colonel Telfair, calmly. "The article is from the pen of a thinker, a philosopher, a lover of mankind, a student, and a rhetorician of high degree."
"It must have been written by a syndicate," said Thacker. "But, honestly, Colonel, you want to go slow. I don't know of any eight- thousand-word single doses of written matter that are read by anybody these days, except Supreme63 Court briefs and reports of murder trials. You haven't by any accident gotten hold of a copy of one of Daniel Webster's speeches, have you?"
Colonel Telfair swung a little in his chair and looked steadily64 from under his bushy eyebrows at the magazine promoter.
"Mr. Thacker," he said, gravely, "I am willing to segregate65 the somewhat crude expression of your sense of humor from the solicitude66 that your business investments undoubtedly67 have conferred upon you. But I must ask you to cease your jibes68 and derogatory comments upon the South and the Southern people. They, sir, will not be tolerated in the office of The Rose of Dixie for one moment. And before you proceed with more of your covert69 insinuations that I, the editor of this magazine, am not a competent judge of the merits of the matter submitted to its consideration, I beg that you will first present some evidence or proof that you are my superior in any way, shape, or form relative to the question in hand."
"Oh, come, Colonel," said Thacker, good-naturedly. "I didn't do anything like that to you. It sounds like an indictment70 by the fourth assistant attorney-general. Let's get back to business. What's this 8,000 to 1 shot about?"
"The article," said Colonel Telfair, acknowledging the apology by a slight bow, "covers a wide area of knowledge. It takes up theories and questions that have puzzled the world for centuries, and disposes of them logically and concisely71. One by one it holds up to view the evils of the world, points out the way of eradicating72 them; and then conscientiously and in detail comments the good. There is hardly a phase of human life that it does not discuss wisely, calmly, and equitably73. The great policies of governments, the duties of private citizens, the obligations of home life, law, ethics74, morality--all these important subjects are handled with a calm wisdom and confidence that I must confess has captured my admiration75."
"It must be a crackerjack," said Thacker, impressed.
"It is a great contribution to the world's wisdom," said the colonel. "The only doubt remaining in my mind as to the tremendous advantage it would be to us to give it publication in The Rose of Dixie is that I have not yet sufficient information about the author to give his work publicity76 in our magazine.
"I thought you said he is a distinguished man," said Thacker.
"He is," replied the colonel, "both in literary and in other more diversified77 and extraneous78 fields. But I am extremely careful about the matter that I accept for publication. My contributors are people of unquestionable repute and connections, which fact can be verified at any time. As I said, I am holding this article until I can acquire more information about its author. I do not know whether I will publish it or not. If I decide against it, I shall be much pleased, Mr. Thacker, to substitute the matter that you are leaving with me in its place."
Thacker was somewhat at sea.
"I don't seem to gather," said he, "much about the gist79 of this inspired piece of literature. It sounds more like a dark horse than Pegasus to me."
"It is a human document," said the colonel-editor, confidently, "from a man of great accomplishments80 who, in my opinion, has obtained a stronger grasp on the world and its outcomes than that of any man living to-day."
Thacker rose to his feet excitedly.
"Say!" he said. "It isn't possible that you've cornered John D. Rockefeller's memoirs81, is it? Don't tell me that all at once."
No, sir," said Colonel Telfair. "I am speaking of mentality82 and literature not of the less worthy83 intricacies of trade."
Well, what's the trouble about running the article," asked Thacker, a little impatiently, "if the man's well known and has got the stuff ?" Colonel Telfair sighed.
"Mr. Thacker," said he, "for once I have been tempted84. Nothing has yet appeared in The Rose of Dixie that has not been from the pen of one of its sons or daughters. I know little about the author of this article except that he has acquired prominence85 in a section of the country that has always been inimical to my heart and mind. But I recognize his genius; and, as I have told you, I have instituted an investigation86 of his personality. Perhaps it will be futile87. But I shall pursue the inquiry88. Until that is finished, I must leave open the question of filling the vacant space in our January number."
Thacker arose to leave.
"All right, Colonel," he said, as cordially as he could. "You use your own judgment89. If you've really got a scoop90 or something that will make 'em sit up, run it instead of my stuff. I'll drop in again in about two weeks. Good luck!"
Colonel Telfair and the magazine promoter shook hands.
Returning a fortnight later, Thacker dropped off a very rocky Pullman at Toombs City. He found the January number of the magazine made up and the forms closed.
The vacant space that had been yawning for type was filled by an article that was headed thus:
SECOND MESSAGE TO CONGRESS
Written for
THE ROSE OF DIXIE
BY
A Member of the Well-known
BULLOCH FAMILY, OF GEORGIA
T. Roosevelt
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patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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subscribed
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| v.捐助( subscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；签署，题词；订阅；同意 | |
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cedar
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| n.雪松，香柏(木) | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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anatomy
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| n.解剖学，解剖；功能，结构，组织 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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punctiliously
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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solicitously
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| adv.热心地，热切地 | |
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humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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permeate
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| v.弥漫，遍布，散布；渗入，渗透 | |
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hurling
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| n.爱尔兰式曲棍球v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的现在分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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minions
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| n.奴颜婢膝的仆从( minion的名词复数 )；走狗；宠儿；受人崇拜者 | |
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curtailed
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| v.截断，缩短( curtail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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wilt
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| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
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bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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crate
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| vt.(up)把…装入箱中；n.板条箱，装货箱 | |
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stenographer
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| n.速记员 | |
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arbor
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| n.凉亭；树木 | |
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advertising
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| n.广告业；广告活动 a.广告的；广告业务的 | |
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exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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engraving
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| n.版画；雕刻（作品）；雕刻艺术；镌版术v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的现在分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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subscription
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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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dribbled
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| v.流口水( dribble的过去式和过去分词 )；（使液体）滴下或作细流；运球，带球 | |
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courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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Ford
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sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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feud
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rejection
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inauguration
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| n.开幕、就职典礼 | |
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illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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depot
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| n.仓库，储藏处；公共汽车站；火车站 | |
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breweries
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| 酿造厂，啤酒厂( brewery的名词复数 ) | |
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bug
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| n.虫子；故障；窃听器；vt.纠缠；装窃听器 | |
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impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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serial
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| n.连本影片，连本电视节目；adj.连续的 | |
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serially
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| adv.连续地，连续刊载地 | |
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Congressman
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| n.（美）国会议员 | |
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catered
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| 提供饮食及服务( cater的过去式和过去分词 )； 满足需要，适合 | |
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parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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conscientiously
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| adv.凭良心地；认真地，负责尽职地；老老实实 | |
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commuting
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| 交换（的） | |
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synopsis
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| n.提要，梗概 | |
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stiffening
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| n. (使衣服等)变硬的材料, 硬化 动词stiffen的现在分词形式 | |
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stanzas
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| 节，段( stanza的名词复数 ) | |
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unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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recluse
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| n.隐居者 | |
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immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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pending
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| prep.直到，等待…期间；adj.待定的；迫近的 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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collaborating
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| 合作( collaborate的现在分词 )； 勾结叛国 | |
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allusions
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| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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segregate
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| adj.分离的，被隔离的；vt.使分离，使隔离 | |
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solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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jibes
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| n.与…一致( jibe的名词复数 )；（与…）相符；相匹配v.与…一致( jibe的第三人称单数 )；（与…）相符；相匹配 | |
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covert
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| adj.隐藏的；暗地里的 | |
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indictment
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| n.起诉；诉状 | |
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concisely
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| adv.简明地 | |
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eradicating
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| 摧毁，完全根除( eradicate的现在分词 ) | |
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equitably
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| 公平地 | |
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ethics
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| n.伦理学；伦理观，道德标准 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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publicity
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| n.众所周知，闻名；宣传，广告 | |
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diversified
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| adj.多样化的，多种经营的v.使多样化，多样化( diversify的过去式和过去分词 )；进入新的商业领域 | |
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extraneous
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| adj.体外的；外来的；外部的 | |
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gist
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| n.要旨；梗概 | |
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accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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memoirs
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| n.回忆录；回忆录传( mem,自oir的名词复数) | |
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mentality
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| n.心理，思想，脑力 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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prominence
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| n.突出；显著；杰出；重要 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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scoop
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| n.铲子，舀取，独家新闻；v.汲取，舀取，抢先登出 | |
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