the news of the day

The city editor unobtrusively studied Banneker out of placid, inscrutable eyes, soft as a dove's, while he chatted at large about theaters, politics, the news of the day. Afterward the applicant met the Celtic assistant, Mr. Mallory, who broadly outlined for him the technique of the office. With no further preliminaries Banneker found himself employed at fifteen dollars a week, with Monday for his day off and directions to report on the first of the month. As the day-desk staff was about departing at six o'clock, Mr. Gordon sauntered over to the city desk looking mildly apologetic. "I practically had to take that young desert antelope on," said he. "Too ingenuous to turn down," surmised the city editor. "Ingenuous! He's heir to the wisdom of the ages. And now I'm afraid I've made a ghastly mistake." "Something wrong with him?" "I've had his stuff in the Sunday Sphere looked up." "Pretty weird?" put in Mallory, gliding into his beautifully fitting overcoat. "So damned good that I don't see how The Sphere ever came to take it. Greenough, you'll have to find some pretext for firing that young phenomenon as soon as possible." Perfectly comprehending his superior's mode of indirect expression the city editor replied: "You think so highly of him as that?" "Not one of our jobs will be safe from him if he once gets his foot planted," prophesied the other with mock ruefulness. "Do you know," he added, "I never even asked him for a reference." "You don't need to," pronounced Mallory, shaking the last wrinkle out of himself and lighting the cigarette of departure. "He's got it in his face, if I'm any judge." Highly elate, Banneker walked on springy pavements all the way to Grove Street. Fifteen a week! He could live on that. His other income and savings could be devoted to carrying out Miss Camilla's advice. For he need not save any more. He would go ahead, fast, now that he had got his start. How easy it had been.