insignificance of his face. "Journalism is not a career. It is either a
school or a cemetery. A man may use it as a stepping-stone to something
else. But if he sticks to it, he finds himself an old man, dead and done
for to all intents and purposes years before he's buried."

"I wonder if it doesn't attract a great many men who have a little talent
and fancy that they have much. I wonder if it does not disappoint their
vanity rather than their merit."

"That sounds well," replied Kittredge, "and there's some truth in it. But,
believe me, journalism is the dragon that demands the annual sacrifice of
youth. It will have only youth. Why am I here? Why are you here? Because we
are young, have a fresh, a new point of view. As soon as we get a little
older, we shall be stale and, though still young in years, we must step
aside for young fellows with new ideas and a new point of view."

"But why should not one have always new ideas, always a new point of view?
Why should one expect to escape the penalties of stagnation in journalism
when one can't escape them in any other profession?"

"But who has new ideas all the time? The average successful man has at most
one idea and makes a whole career out of it. Then there are the
temptations."

"How do you mean?"

Kittredge flushed slightly and answered in a more serious tone:

"We must work while others amuse themselves or sleep. We must sleep while
others are at work. That throws us out of touch with the whole world of