“Not if you understand them from study at first hand, as I do. That’s why the other fellows are five or ten-thousand-dollar men,” said Banneker, quite without boastfulness “while I’m—”
“A fifty-thousand-dollar a year man,” supplied Edmonds.
“Well, getting toward that figure. I’m on the target with the editorials and I’m going to hold on it. But our news policy is different. We still wobble there.”
“What do you want! Look at the circulation. Isn’t that good enough?”
“No. Every time I get into a street-car and see a passenger reading some other paper, I feel that we’ve missed fire,” returned Banneker inexorably. “Pop, did you ever see an actress make up?”
“I’ve a general notion of the process.”
“Find me a man who can make up news ready and rouged to go before the daily footlights as an actress makes up her face.”
The veteran grunted. “Not to be found on Park Row.”
“Probably not. Park Row is too deadly conventional.”
One might suppose that the environment of religious journalism would be equally conventional. Yet it was from this department that the “find” eventually came, conducted by Edmonds. Edgar Severance, ten years older than Banneker, impressed the guiding spirit of The Patriot at first sight with a sense of inner certitude and serenity not in the least impaired by his shabbiness which had the redeeming merit of being clean.