ght-keys, or of some empty-headed society dame being caught in a
roadhouse with another lady's hubby. Spice: that's what we're looking
for. Something to tickle their jaded palates. And they despise us when
we break our necks or our hearts to get it for 'em."

"But if it's what they want, the fault lies with the public, not with
us," argued Banneker.

"I used to know a white-stuff man--a cocaine-seller--who had the same
argument down pat," retorted Edmonds quietly.

Banneker digested that for a time before continuing.

"Besides, you imply that because news is sensational, it must be
unworthy. That isn't fair. Big news is always sensational. And of course
the public wants sensation. After all, sensation of one sort or another
is the proof of life."

"Hence the noble profession of the pander," observed Edmonds through a
coil of minute and ascending smoke-rings. "He also serves the public."

"You're not drawing a parallel--"

"Oh, no! It isn't the same thing, quite. But it's the same public. Let
me tell you something to remember, youngster. The men who go to the top
in journalism, the big men of power and success and grasp, come through
with a contempt for the public which they serve, compared to which the
contempt of the public for the newspaper is as skim milk to corrosive
sublimate."

"Perhaps that's what is wrong with the business, then."

"Have you any idea," inquired Edmonds softly, "what the philosophy of
the Most Ancient Profession is?"

Banneker shook his head.

"I once heard a street-walker on the verge of D.T.'s--she was
intelligent; most of 'em are fools--express her analytical opinion of
the men who patronized her. The men who make our news system have much
the same notion of their public. How much poison _they_ scatter abroad
we won't know until a later diagnosis."

"Yet you advise me to stick in the business."

"You've got to. You are marked for it."

"And help scatter the poison!"

"God forbid! I've been pointing out the disease of the business. There's
a lot of health in it yet. But it's got to have new blood. I'm too old
to do more than help a little. Son, you've got the stuff in you to do
the trick. Some one is going to make a newspaper here in this rotten,
stink-breathing, sensation-sniffing town that'll be based on news.
Truth! There's your religion for you. Go to it."

"And serve a public that I'll despise as soon as I get strong enough to
disregard it's contempt for me," smiled Ban