and so
on.

The Judge would not answer, except to say that he might have a statement
to make within twenty-four hours. This afternoon (continued the city
editor) Enderby, it was understood, had telephoned to The Sphere and
asked that Russell Edmonds come to his house between four and five. No
one else would do. Edmonds had gone, had been closeted with Enderby for
an hour, and had emerged with the brief typed statement for distribution
to all the papers. He would not say a word as to the interview. Judge
Enderby absolutely denied himself to all callers. Physician's orders
again.

Banneker reflected that if the talk between Edmonds and Enderby had been
what he could surmise, the veteran would hardly attend the dinner in his
(Banneker's) honor. Honor and Banneker would be irreconcilable terms, to
the stern judgment of Pop Edmonds. Had they, indeed, become
irreconcilable terms? It was a question which Banneker, in the turmoil
of his mind, could not face. On his way along Park Row he stopped and
had a drink. It seemed to produce no effect, so presently he had
another. After the fourth, he clarified and enlarged his outlook upon
the whole question, which he now saw in its entirety. He perceived
himself as the victim of unique circumstances, forced by the demands of
honor into what might seem, to unenlightened minds, dubious if not
dishonorable positions, each one of them in reality justified: yes,
necessitated! Perhaps he was at fault in his very first judgment;
perhaps, had he even then, in his inexperience, seen what he now saw so
clearly in the light of experience, the deadly pitfalls into which
journalism, undertaken with any other purpose than the simple setting
forth of truth, beguiles its practitioners--perhaps he might have drawn
back from the first step of passive deception and have resigned rather
than been a party to the suppression of the facts about the Veridian
killings. Resigned? And forfeited all his force for education, for
enlightenment, for progress of thought and belief, exerted upon millions
of minds through The Patriot?... Would that not have been the way of
cowardice?... He longed to be left to himself. To think it all out. What
would Io say, if she knew everything? Io whose silence was surrounding
him with a cold terror.... He had to get home and dress for that cursed
dinner!

Marrineal had done the thing quite royally. The room was superb with
flowers; the menu the best devisable; the wines not w