“Probably not. But he knows that his paper takes money for publishing those vicious advertisements.”
“Suppose he couldn’t help it?”
“Probably he can’t.”
“Well, what would you have him do? Stop writing the editorials? I think it is evidence of his courage that he should dare to attack the evils which his own paper fosters.”
“That’s one view of it, certainly,” replied Enderby dryly. “A convenient view. But there are other details. Banneker is an ardent advocate of abstinence, ‘Down with the Demon Rum!’ The columns of The Patriot reek with whiskey ads. The same with tobacco.”
“But, Cousin Billy, you don’t believe that a newspaper should shut out liquor and tobacco advertisements, do you?”
The lawyer smiled patiently. “Come back on the track, Io,” he invited. “That isn’t the point. If a newspaper preaches the harm in these habits, it shouldn’t accept money for exploiting them. Look further. What of the loan-shark offers, and the blue-sky stock propositions, and the damnable promises of the consumption and cancer quacks? You can’t turn a page of The Patriot without stumbling on them. There’s a smell of death about that money.”
“Don’t all the newspapers publish the same kind of advertisements?” argued the girl.
“Certainly not. Some won’t publish an advertisement without being satisfied of its good faith. Others discriminate less carefully. But there are few as bad as The Patriot.”
“If Mr. Banneker were your client, would you advise him to resign?” she asked shrewdly.