Roger tried to look his horror, and Mr. Burdick went on vigorously.
"I say most newspapers. And I say it with a purpose, sir. I don't suppose you can guess what it is?" He smiled archly, and when Roger could not guess, he added, with profound conviction, "The Dispatch, thank God, is not like most papers. It is free, daring, original. I ask you, sir, to use it in a cause worthy of all its freedom, its daring, its originality. I ask you—yes, I command you—to put its tremendous and growing power behind the greatest movement of the age, that..."
"You mean..."
"I mean," said Mr. Burdick with solemnity, as if he were conferring an accolade, "I mean that I seek the enlistment of The Dispatch under the glowing banner of the single-tax."
He folded his arms and waited for a reply. Roger cast a troubled glance at Good, and turned away helplessly from the blank countenance which met him. It seemed to the tall man, studying his protégé narrowly through half-closed lids, that he was indecisive. But he waited hopefully. He was not certain. Presently Roger bit off the end of a cigar, and chewed it thoughtfully. Then he squared his shoulders and the light of resolution came into his eyes. Good sighed contentedly. He had been mistaken.
"I guess you don't quite understand The Dispatch, Mr. Burdick," said Roger quietly, but none the less firmly. "It doesn't take sides."
"But the single-tax...."
"It makes no difference what the side is. We're not partisan."
"But, my dear sir," cried Mr. Burdick, a quite unsuspected temper manifesting itself. "It's not a political party. It's not a religion. It's not—dogmatic in any sense. It's just—an idea. You seem to favour advanced ideas. You give space ... why, you had two columns about a socialist meeting that was raided by the police!"
"I know," said Roger gently. "But—that was news."