k of dirt, wasn't
it?"

Banneker nodded.

"Gordon won't let you go. And you won't have any more dirt thrown at
you--probably. If you do, it'll be time enough then."

"There's more than that."

"Is there? What?"

"We're a pariah caste, Edmonds, we reporters. People look down on us."

"Oh, that be damned! You can't afford to be swayed by the ignorance or
snobbery of outsiders. Play the game straight, and let the rest go."

"But we are, aren't we?" persisted Banneker.

"What! Pariahs?" The look which the old-timer bent upon the rising star
of the business had in it a quality of brooding and affection. "Son,
you're too young to have come properly to that frame of mind. That comes
later. With the dregs of disillusion after the sparkle has died out."

"But it's true. You admit it."

"If an outsider said that we were pariahs I'd call him a liar. But,
what's the use, with you? It isn't reporting alone. It's the whole
business of news-getting and news-presenting; of journalism. We're under
suspicion. They're afraid of us. And at the same time they're
contemptuous of us."

"Why?"

"Because people are mostly fools and fools are afraid or contemptuous of
what they don't understand."

Banneker thought it over. "No. That won't do," he decided. "Men that
aren't fools and aren't afraid distrust us and despise the business.
Edmonds, there's nothing wrong, essentially, in furnishing news for the
public. It's part of the spread of truth. It's the handing on of the
light. It's--it's as big a thing as religion, isn't it?"

"Bigger. Religion, seven days a week."

"Well, then--"

"I know, son," said Edmonds gently. "You're thirsting for the clear and
restoring doctrine of journalism. And I'm going to give you hell's own
heresy. You'll come to it anyway, in time." His fierce little pipe
glowed upward upon his knotted brows. "You talk about truth, news: news
and truth as one and the same thing. So they are. But newspapers aren't
after news: not primarily. Can't you see that?"

"No. What are they after?"

"Sensation."

Banneker turned the word over in his mind, evoking confirmation in the
remembered headlines even of the reputable Ledger.

"Sensation," repeated the other. "We've got the speed-up motto in
industry. Our newspaper version of it is 'spice-up.' A conference that
may change the map of Europe will be crowded off any front page any day
by young Mrs. Poultney Masters making a speech in favor of giving girls
ni