The others paid their accounts and followed Mallory out, leaving Banneker alone at the table with the saturnine elder. Edmonds put a thumbful of tobacco in his pipe, and puffed silently.
“What will it get a man?” asked Banneker, setting down his coffee-cup.
“This game?” queried the other.
“Yes.”
“‘What shall it profit a man,’” quoted the veteran ruminatively. “You know the rest.”
“No,” returned Banneker decidedly. “That won’t do. These fellows here haven’t sold their souls.”
“Or lost ’em. Maybe not,” admitted the elder. “Though I wouldn’t gamble strong on some of ’em. But they’ve lost something.”
“Well, what is it? That’s what I’m trying to get at.”
“Independence. They’re merged in the paper they write for.”
“Every man’s got to subordinate himself to his business, if he’s to do justice to it and himself, hasn’t he?”