"We haven't any axes to grind. And there's only one boss. For the first time in your lives, I guess, you can write the truth without being afraid of stepping on somebody's toes. From now on, the business office gives no orders. And if the advertising department can't sell space without editorial influence thrown in, then we'll get a new advertising department or do without advertising. Instead of looking at every story with your mind on 'who will it hurt,' from now on I want you to look at every story with your mind on 'who will it help--or _what_.' You boys have a chance to run the kind of a newspaper that every newspaper man wants to run. It's up to you to make it or break it." Good's voice broke a little and he turned away. There was silence for a moment. Then a cheer shook the room. When it subsided, Bassett's dry voice was heard. "Kindly don't overlook the fact, gentlemen, that we put the paper to bed to-night as usual. You can celebrate when that's done." Then he turned to Good. "Come back in my office, will you, Mr. Good. There are a few questions I want to ask you." "Cut out the 'Mister,' Bassett. I'm just one of the staff. I don't own anything, you know." "That goes with me," said Bassett, "but look out I don't call you something worse. I've got a bad temper." "Well," laughed Good, "I'm bigger than you." They went into Bassett's private office. "What I want to get at," said the latter perplexedly, after they were seated, "is what line of thought you intend to follow. What angles do you mean to push?" "You don't understand," said Good patiently, "all we want is the truth." "Oh, fiddlesticks," cried Bassett impatiently. "That's fine for a rights-of-man declaration, but we're running a newspaper. You've got to have balance. What's true and interesting and desirable to one class of people isn't to another. What kind of people do you intend to cater to?" "I see," said Good. He was silent for a moment. "I guess we want to print," he said finally, "what's true to _most_ people. Anything that gives the greatest good to the greatest number, ought to be our field." "That's what I'm getting at. Now look at this." The managing editor fumbled in his desk and produced a mass of paper. "You probably know that the girls in the department stores are trying to stage a strike. It doesn't amount to much--yet--but the police have pulled some pretty raw work. Now from the girls' standpoint this stuff ought to get publicity. But from the standpoint of those who own the newspapers it shouldn't--and it hasn't had a line except in _The World_, which, of course, only goes to the working people. Incidentally, _The World_ has been running some pretty good sob-stuff lately." "Yes," said Good quietly, "I wrote it." Bassett looked up quickly. "Oh--are you one of that socialist outfit?" "No more socialist than you are plutocrat. I'm just a newspaper man--like yourself." "Conscienceless, eh?" "Consciences are expensive."