is profession personal
feelings did not count? He left his personal feelings at home when
he went down to the office. At the office he had only professional
feelings.

"Should Jackson have received damages?" I asked.

"Certainly," he answered. "That is, personally, I have a feeling that he
should. But that has nothing to do with the legal aspects of the case."

He was getting his scattered wits slightly in hand.

"Tell me, has right anything to do with the law?" I asked.

"You have used the wrong initial consonant," he smiled in answer.

"Might?" I queried; and he nodded his head. "And yet we are supposed to
get justice by means of the law?"

"That is the paradox of it," he countered. "We do get justice."

"You are speaking professionally now, are you not?" I asked.

Colonel Ingram blushed, actually blushed, and again he looked anxiously
about him for a way of escape. But I blocked his path and did not offer
to move.

"Tell me," I said, "when one surrenders his personal feelings to his
professional feelings, may not the action be defined as a sort of
spiritual mayhem?"

I did not get an answer. Colonel Ingram had ingloriously bolted,
overturning a palm in his flight.

Next I tried the newspapers. I wrote a quiet, restrained, dispassionate
account of Jackson's case. I made no charges against the men with whom
I had talked, nor, for that matter, did I even mention them. I gave
the actual facts of the case, the long years Jackson had worked in the
mills, his effort to save the machinery from damage and the consequent
accident, and his own present wretched and starving condition. The
three local newspapers rejected my communication, likewise did the two
weeklies.

I got hold of Percy Layton. He was a graduate of the university, had
gone in for journalism, and was then serving his apprenticeship as
reporter on the most influential of the three newspapers. He smiled when
I asked him the reason the newspapers suppressed all mention of Jackson
or his case.

"Editorial policy," he said. "We have nothing to do with that. It's up
to the editors."

"But why is it policy?" I asked.

"We're all solid with the corporations," he answered. "If you paid
advertising rates, you couldn't get any such matter into the papers. A
man who tried to smuggle it in would lose his job. You couldn't get it
in if you paid ten times the regular advertising rates."

"How about your own policy?" I questioned. "It would seem your func