"What else could it be?"

Hal was silent, finding no answer.

"You see! To feed your mean little spite, you've taken over control of
the biggest responsibility, for any one with any decent sense of
responsibility, that a man could take on his shoulders. And what will
you make of it? A toy! A rich kid's plaything."

"Well, what would you make of it, yourself?" asked Hal.

"A teacher and a preacher. A force to tear down and to build up. To rip
this old town wide open, and remould it nearer to the heart's desire!
That's what a newspaper might be, and ought to be, and could be, by God
in Heaven, if the right man ever had a free hand at it."

"Don't get profane, my boy," tittered Sterne.

"You think that's swearing?" retorted Ellis. "Yes; _you_ would. But I
was nearer praying then than I've ever been since I came to this office.
We'll never live to see that prayer answered, you and I."

"Perhaps," began Hal.

"Oh, perhaps!" Ellis snatched the word from his lips. "Perhaps you're
the boy to do it, eh? Why, it's your kind that's made journalism the
sewer of the professions, full of the scum and drainings of every other
trade's failures. What chance have we got to develop ideals when you
outsiders control the whole business?"