his littered desk, eyeing the sheets with apprehensive animosity.
"The mermaid—there really is a mermaid. At Folkestone."
Banghurst turned away from him and pawed at his pen tray. "Whad if there is!" he said after a pause.
"But it's proved. That note you printed———"
"That note I printed was a mistake if there's anything of that sort going, young man." Banghurst remained an obstinate expansion of back.
"How?"
"We don't deal in mermaids here."
"But you're not going to let it drop?"
"I am."
"But there she is!"
"Let her be." He turned on the rising young journalist, and his massive face was unusually massive and his voice fine and full and fruity. "Do you think we're going to make our public believe anything simply because it's true? They know perfectly well what they are going to believe and what they aren't going to believe, and they aren't going to believe anything about mermaids—you bet your hat. I don't care if the whole damned beach was littered with mermaids—not the whole damned beach! We've got our reputation to keep up. See?. . . Look here!—you don't learn journalism as I hoped you'd do. It was you what brought in all that stuff about a discovery in chemistry———"
"It's true."
"Ugh!"
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