“I don’t accept your definition at all,” replied Banneker. “The newspapers are only a medium. If there is a stench, they do not originate it. They simply report the events of the day.”
“Exactly. They simply disseminate it.”
Banneker was annoyed at himself for flushing. “They disseminate news. We’ve got to have news, to carry on the world. Only a small fraction of it is—well, malodorous. Would you destroy the whole system because of one flaw? You’re not fair.”
“Fair? Of course I’m not. How should I be? No; I would not destroy the system. Merely deodorize it a bit. But I suppose the public likes the odors. It sniffs ’em up like—like Cyrano in the bake-shop. A marvelous institution, the public which you and I serve. Have you ever thought of magazine work, Mr. Banneker?”
“A little.”
“There might be a considerable future there for you. I say ‘might.’ Nothing is more uncertain. But you have certain—er—stigmata of the writer—That article, now, about the funereal eulogies over the old builder; did you report that talk as it was?”
“Approximately.”
“How approximately?”
“Well; the basic idea was there. The old fellows gave me that, and I fitted it up with talk. Surely there’s nothing dishonest in that,” protested Banneker.
“Surely not,” agreed the other. “You gave the essence of the thing. That is a higher veracity than any literal reporting which would be dull and unreadable. I thought I recognized the fictional quality in the dialogue.”