“I know.” Tom picked a cigarette out of Allardyce’s shirt pocket. “Jack,” he said, almost to himself, “tell me something. Have you ever thought about newspapers?”

“What’s that?”

“Oh, nothing. Nothing. I was just thinking—you remember what Will Rogers said? He said, ‘I only believe what I read in the newspapers.’ A lot of people, most people, feel exactly that way. Why do you suppose that is, Jack?”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean, Tom.”

“Neither am I, really. But what I’m getting at, I think, is this: words by themselves don’t carry much weight. I could tell you that the world was flat, and you’d call me a liar. Wouldn’t you?”

The old man laughed. “No, I’d just say you’d had a couple too many, is all.”

“But it’s the same thing: you wouldn’t believe me, that’s the point. Neither would anybody. But if every newspaper in the world came out and said that the world was flat, there’s quite a few people who wouldn’t doubt it, for a second.”

“I don’t know about that,” Allardyce said, rubbing his chin.

“I do. The minute a sentence gets set up in type and put on a piece of paper, suddenly it’s important. It’s permanent, it’s chiseled in rock; it will last forever.”

The old man cocked his head. “Tom,” he said, “it ain’t none of my business, but you don’t look so good. Why don’t you lay down and I’ll get Freddy to do the editorial this time.”

The presses roared in Tom McDaniel’s ears.

“Running a newspaper is not a job,” Professor Cahier had said. “It’s a responsibility. Some books may have told you that newspapers reflect public opinion. They are wrong. Newspapers mold public opinion. They are more powerful than all the bombs in the world, more influential than all the politicians put together . . .” Tom’s mind traveled back to that little room, to the earnest young faces in the room; and he heard the words of a dead man ringing loud and clear. Professor Cahier.

“Newspapers comprise the greatest single force in the world today. They can hurt, heal, kill, crucify, resurrect; at will. They can start wars, and have, and will continue to do so; as easily, they can stop them. They can make gods of humble men, and cause the world to worship these gods. Or, if it is their desire, they can destroy the gods and create new ones. Nothing is beyond the median effect of newspapers, gentlemen. They are the true teachers, priests, judges and executioners of this age. They tell us whom to hate and whom to love, they tell us how to dress, how to eat, how to sleep, and, most important, how to think. They speak and their voices are heard. And they are obeyed.