“There would n’t be. _I’d_ like to lecture to ’em on the Voice of the Press. The Voice from the Horn! Nickel-in-the-slot and you get your tune. The politician drops his coin in and gets his favorite selection, in consideration of a job on a board. The city authorities drop their coin in--that’s the official printing--and you sing their little song. The railroads drop in a few favors, passes and the like, and the horn grinds out their pet record. And always the advertiser, big, small, and medium; he owns your paper, news and editorials, and you’ll do as he says or--where do you get off! “And then there’s the silencers,” continued the remorseless lecturer. “Don’t forget the silencers. The Dutch and the Swedes and the Norwegians and the Irish, all with tender toes. The Jews and the Methodists and the Catholics and the Lutherans, all touchy as wasps. You can’t afford to play any tune they don’t like. And always there’s Deutschtum. Know what ‘Deutschtum’ is? No, you would n’t. Well, it means that German-Americans are organized for German purposes all through the Middle West, and nowhere more strongly than in this State. When Germany declares war on Europe, which will be within ten years--yes, I’ve been grinned at before by people who considered this just a crazy hobby of mine--all our Bunds and Vereins and Gesellschafts are going to see to it that the United States either stays out or goes in on the ‘right’ side. Why, they’re making a Little Germany of us right here in this State and city by slow, methodical, Teuton education, managed by our school boards which are run by Germans, trained to it in the public schools--” “That’s a thing I’d like to tackle,” said Robson thoughtfully. “Hands off, young David! The Dutch Goliath is too big for your sling. No, sir! Stand in with them. You’ll find them reasonable and easy enough to deal with so long as you don’t interfere with their programme. Play the German tune and they’ll play yours. Study ’em, flatter ’em a little, and watch ’em. Theirs is the winning game. “To trail along with the successful element,” continued the cynical oracle: “That’s the great secret. It’s the only way for a newspaper. There lies your profit.” “In other words, selling out to the highest bidder,” translated his disenchanted listener. The volunteer professor of journalism took one more drink and gazed with surprise and reproach at the empty bottle. “Oh, I don’t say you’ll sell out, all at once. It’s a gradual process. Step by step, finding a nice soft excuse to plant your foot on each time, until you hit the bottom. Don’t I know! What you won’t do for fear, you’ll do for friendship--and then for favor--and then for preferment.” His voice dropped, and his eyes sought the empty liquor glass. “And then--for cash.” The younger man stirred, uneasy under that intimate and betraying confidence.