"It's bad policy to read a book before you review it," he answered. "It is apt to give rise to prejudice. This volume," taking up one in his hand as he spoke, "The Woman who Fell, is written by a personal friend of the editor. I must review it favourably. This one, In the Teeth of the Tempest, is written by a strong supporter of the Liberal Government. The Dawn is tory, the author is liberal, therefore his work must be slated. See?"
"But your own opinion——"
"What the devil do I need with an opinion of my own?"
Thereupon Barwell reviewed the books which he had not read and I muddled through an account of the fire which I had not seen, and when we had finished we took our way into the street again.
Although it was barely past three o'clock, the early December night had now fallen. Fleet Street was a blaze of light and a medley of taxi-cabs and omnibuses. Except for the down-at-heel mendicant, and the women who had more paint than modesty, everybody was in a great hurry.
"What do you think of it all, Flynn?" asked Barwell suddenly. "Isn't it a great change from your past life? London! there's no place like it in all the world! Light loves and light ladies, passion without soul, enjoyment without stint, and sin without scandal or compunction."
"Only those with some idea of virtue can sin with compunction," I said. This thought came to me suddenly, and Barwell looked surprised at my words.
"By Jove! that's so," he answered, scribbling my remark down on his notebook. "Well, what is your opinion of London, all that you have seen of it?"
"What the devil do I want with an opinion?" I asked, quoting his own words.
"Quite so; but we are now speaking in a confidential, not in a journalistic sense. Do you not think that it is a heavenly privilege to be allowed to write lies for a kingdom of fools within ninety-eight million miles of the sun? You'll fall in love with London directly, old man, for it is the centre of the universe. The world radiates outwards from Charing Cross and revolves around the Nelson column. London is the world, journalism is the midden of creation."