"You infer it," grumbled Mr. Bedlowe, "and that's almost the same as saying it." He visibly bristled here. "I've got a wholesome faith," he proceeded, with hostility. "That's why I wrote 'The Christian Knight in Armor' and 'The Doubtful Soul Satisfied.' Each of them sold seventy thousand copies apiece. There's a proof that the public wanted them—that they filled a need."
"So does the 'Weekly Wake-Me-Up,'" said Mr. Howe, with mild disdain. "My dear Bedlowe, you have two qualities as a modern novel-writer which are simply atrocious—I mean, plot and piety. The natural result of these is popularity. But your popularity means nothing. You utterly neglect analysis"—
"I despise analysis!"
"You entirely ignore style"—
"I express my thoughts without affectation."
"Your characters are wholly devoid of subtlety"—
"I abhor subtlety!"
"You preach sermons"—
"Which thousands listen to!"
"You fail completely to represent your time"—