"Ye must 'ave a ter'uble knowledge of the world, Mister!" said Twitt, thoughtfully--"Just ter'uble!" "Yes, I should assume it must be so,"--murmured Bunce--"I should think it could hardly fail to be so?" Reay gave a short laugh. "Well, I don't know!" he said--"You may call it a knowledge of the world if you like--I call it an unpleasant glimpse into the shady side of life. I'd rather walk in the sunshine." "And what would you call the sunshine, sir?" asked Bunce, with his head very much on one side like a meditative bird. Honesty, truth, belief in God, belief in good!"--answered Angus, with some passion--"Not perpetual scheming, suspicion of motives, personal slander, and pettiness--O Lord!--such pettiness as can hardly be believed! Journalism is the most educational force in the world, but its power is being put to wrong uses." "Well,--said Twitt, slowly--"I aint so blind but I can see through a wall when there's a chink in it. An' when I gets my 'Daily' down from Lunnun, an' sees harf a page given up to a kind o' poster about Pills, an' another harf a page praisin' up somethin' about Tonics, I often sez to myself: 'Look 'ere, Twitt! What are ye payin' yer pennies out for? For a Patent Pill or for News? For a Nervy Tonic or for the latest pol'tics?' An' myself--me--Twitt--answers an' sez--'Why ye're payin' for news an' pol'tics, of course!' Well then, I sez, 'Twitt, ye aint gettin' nothin' o' the sort!' An' t' other day, blow'd if I didn't see in my paper a long piece about ''Ow to be Beautiful'--an' that 'adn't nothin' to do wi' me nor no man, but was just mere gabble for fool women. ''Ow to be Beautiful,' aint news o' the world!" "No,"--said Reay--"You're not intended to know the news of the world. News, real news, is the property of the Stock Exchange. It's chiefly intended for company gambling purposes. The People are not expected to know much about it. Modern Journalism seeks to play Pope and assert the doctrine of infallibility. What It does not authorise, isn't supposed to exist." "Is that truly so?" asked Bunce, solemnly. "Most assuredly!" "You mean to say,"--said Helmsley, breaking in upon the conversation, and speaking in quiet unconcerned tones--"that the actual national affairs of the world are not told to the people as they should be, but are jealously guarded by a few whose private interests are at stake?" "Yes. I certainly do mean that." "I thought you did. You see," went on Helmsley--"when I was in regular office work in London, I used to hear a good deal concerning the business schemes of this, that and the other great house in the city,--and I often wondered what the people would say if they ever came to know!" "Came to know what?" said Mr. Bunce, anxiously.