"I heard that very excuse, advanced only the other day," Percy replied, "and I heard this response made which is quite _apropos_ now. It has been observed by thoughtful naturalists that often when a lion or a bull kills a man, the poor beast really has no malice in his heart, and does not mean any harm. He only intended to play with his accidental comrade of the moment. But then a lion has only claws and a bull only horns with which to make their humor felt, and so they are fatally misunderstood. It would seem to me, then, that the chief of a large newspaper ought to consider himself as responsible for those accidents as the keeper of a menagerie." "But often the chief of a first-class newspaper has no idea of the really scurrilous items which creep into his paper," explained Homer. "Like the chief cook in a large hotel, he cannot taste of every dish prepared by his subordinates, and no managing editor could survive the strain, you know, of looking over his humorist's column every day. Our madhouses would overflow, if such a method of journalism were inaugurated." "Still, it is a lax system which permits such errors (if we can call them errors) to occur," Percy insisted, "and if guests were constantly being poisoned or rendered ill through the criminal carelessness of the hotel cook, I fancy he would be called to account for not knowing what dishes his subordinates prepared. A newspaper should be the friend and companion of the people, and a welcome guest in every home. Instead, it is too often a treacherous spy, a maligner and falsifier. Almost every day we read statements concerning people, which are absolutely without foundation, and which result in no end of mischief and trouble." "You no doubt refer to people in public life--politicians, authors, actors, and the like--do you not?" asked Homer. "I know they are considered targets for the shots of our humorists all over the country, but then you must remember that if a man gives his name voluntarily to the world, and forces his work or his personality upon the public, that he cannot expect both the benefits of fame and the seclusion of private life. It is unreasonable. He has in a measure given himself over to the public, and he must take the consequences. And, really, the fact that the busy newspapers of the present day give time and space to discussion or comments upon any individual ought to be considered highly complimentary."