The Reporter Who Made Himself King — Story, Setting & Ideas

The Reporter as Reluctant Kingmaker

Gordon's arrival on the island is not a journalistic assignment but a shipwreck, yet he immediately falls into a role that mirrors his city work: mediating between opposing parties. The two kings, Ollypybus and Messenwah, have been at odds, and Gordon, along with his companion Stedman, steps in to broker a treaty. The narrator draws a direct line between Gordon's urban experience and his island diplomacy: he feels the same cold chill down his spine as when walking past snowball-throwing boys in a high hat. The parallel is deliberately undignified, undercutting any heroic pretension. Gordon's authority rests not on any official mandate but on the rifles he carries and the natives' fear of them. The story treats this power as both comical and precarious—Gordon half-expects an arrow in his shoulder at any moment. The reporter, who once covered city events, now stages a treaty signing, complete with threats of violence and the distribution of trinkets.

Treaties, Watches, and Revolvers

The negotiation scene is built around a single object: a silver watch marked 'Munich.' King Messenwah has already sold his island to a foreign ship's crew for this watch, believing he has made a binding treaty. Gordon and Stedman dismiss the agreement as invalid because Ollypybus did not consent, and they propose a new treaty that divides the island. The watch becomes a symbol of the flimsy legal fictions that underpin colonial claims. Gordon's indignation—'those monarchical pirates, imposing upon a poor old black'—is immediately undercut by his own plan to 'improve' the island and 'meddle in their affairs of state.' The story does not resolve this irony; it simply presents the gap between Gordon's self-image as a protector and his actual behavior. The revolver given to Messenwah as a replacement for the watch is a more honest currency: it buys loyalty only as long as cartridges are supplied. The treaty is a performance, and the narrator never lets the reader forget it.

The Voice of the Old-Time Journalist

The story's most distinctive feature is its narrative voice, which oscillates between the knowing cynicism of the 'old time journalist' and the earnest enthusiasm of the young reporter. The opening paragraphs read like a lecture delivered by a veteran who has seen too many bright-eyed graduates burn out. The prose is brisk, colloquial, and packed with specific detail: the fire badge on the left suspender, the copy-boy at the elbow, the three-year timeline for losing one's illusions. This voice returns in the island scenes, where it undercuts Gordon's grand gestures with dry asides. When Gordon declares his anger at the foreign treaty, the narrator notes that he glared 'as grimly as he thought was safe.' The effect is to keep the reader at a slight distance from the protagonist, aware that his heroism is partly a pose. The story does not condemn Gordon; it simply observes the gap between his self-image and his actions with a wry, affectionate skepticism.

Readers should pay attention to the story's framing device: the opening lecture on journalism is not a digression but a key to interpreting everything that follows. Gordon's island adventure is a test of the very qualities the narrator describes—quick thinking, resourcefulness, and a willingness to act without full knowledge. The story does not resolve whether Gordon succeeds or fails; it leaves him in the middle of a precarious negotiation. The pleasure lies in watching a reporter apply city-bred instincts to a setting that refuses to behave like a news story.

That rainy afternoon, Davis’s Albert Gordon kept grinning through the absurdity of his island kingship, and I kept thinking how little the romance of influence matches its grubby practice. Later, rummaging for something calmer, I opened Lavender and Old Lace — Themes and Context, and found the same quiet joke about faded ambitions, only gentler. One book’s comedy of power, the other’s comedy of patience. Both left me staring out the window, content.