“You’re not a newspaper man?” said Banneker after the introduction. “What are you?”
“I’m a prostitute,” answered the other equably.
Banneker smiled. “Where have you practiced your profession?”
“As assistant editor of Guidance. I write the blasphemous editorials which are so highly regarded by the sweetly simple souls that make up our clientèle; the ones which weekly give gratuitous advice to God.”
“Did Mr. Edmonds find you there?”
“No,” put in the veteran; “I traced him down through some popular scientific stuff in the Boston Sunday Star.”
“Fake, all of it,” proffered Severance. “Otherwise it wouldn’t be popular.”
“Is that your creed of journalism?” asked Banneker curiously.
“Largely.”
“Why come to The Patriot, then? It isn’t ours.”