"
"No: you won't quit," prophesied the other.
"I have. That is, I've resigned."
"Of course. They all do, of your type. It was the peck of dirt, wasn't
it?"
Banneker nodded.
"Gordon won't let you go. And you won't have any more dirt thrown at
you--probably. If you do, it'll be time enough then."
"There's more than that."
"Is there? What?"
"We're a pariah caste, Edmonds, we reporters. People look down on us."
"Oh, that be damned! You can't afford to be swayed by the ignorance or
snobbery of outsiders. Play the game straight, and let the rest go."
"But we are, aren't we?" persisted Banneker.
"What! Pariahs?" The look which the old-timer bent upon the rising star
of the business had in it a quality of brooding and affection. "Son,
you're too young to have come properly to that frame of mind. That comes
later. With the dregs of disillusion after the sparkle has died out."
"But it's true. You admit it."
"If an outsider said that we were pariahs I'd call him a liar. But,
what's the use, with you? It isn't reporting alone. It's the whole
business of news-getting and news-presenting; of journalism. We're under
suspicion. They're afraid of us. And at the same time they're
contemptuous of us."
"Why?"
"Because people are mostly fools and fools are afraid or contemptuous of
what they don't understand.
Pages:
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404