tears.

"He has delivered his message," Ernest cried. "The manhood and the
deep-hidden, tender nature of their Bishop burst out, and his Christian
audience, that loved him, concluded that he was crazy! Did you see them
leading him so solicitously from the platform? There must have been
laughter in hell at the spectacle."

"Nevertheless, it will make a great impression, what the Bishop did and
said to-night," I said.

"Think so?" Ernest queried mockingly.

"It will make a sensation," I asserted. "Didn't you see the reporters
scribbling like mad while he was speaking?"

"Not a line of which will appear in to-morrow's papers."

"I can't believe it," I cried.

"Just wait and see," was the answer. "Not a line, not a thought that he
uttered. The daily press? The daily suppressage!"

"But the reporters," I objected. "I saw them."

"Not a word that he uttered will see print. You have forgotten the
editors. They draw their salaries for the policy they maintain. Their
policy is to print nothing that is a vital menace to the established.
The Bishop's utterance was a violent assault upon the established
morality. It was heresy. They led him from the platform to prevent him