The last part will do; we do follow the worser
way; but if we see the better, we don't approve it. We don't even
recognize it as the better. We're honestly convinced in our advocacy of
the devil."
"I don't know that we're honestly convinced of anything on The Courier,
except of the desirability of keeping friendly with everybody. But such
as we are, we'd grab at you."
"No; thanks, Pop. You yourself are enough in the troubled-water duckling
line for one old hen like The Courier."
"Then there remains only The Patriot, friend of the Pee-pul."
"Skimmed scum," was Banneker's prompt definition. "And nothing in the
soup underneath."
Ernst, the waiter, scuttled across the floor below, and disappeared back
of the L-angle a few feet away.
"Somebody's dining there," remarked Edmonds, "while we've been stripping
the character off every paper in the field."
"May it be all the editors and owners in a lump!" said Banneker. "I'm
sorry I didn't talk louder. I'm feeling reckless."
"Bad frame of mind for a man seeking a job. By the way, what _are_ you
out after, exactly? Aiming at the editorial page, aren't you?"
Banneker leaned over the table, his face earnest to the point of
somberness. "Pop," he said, "you know I can write.
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