“NO LOAFERS NOR REPORTERS ADMITTED.”
AS THE young reporter entered the _Phonograph_ office that Monday
morning he wondered whether or not his week of trial had been
satisfactory. Was he to retain his position, or was he to be politely
told that he was a failure, and that the paper had no need of him? The
anxiety aroused by the mere thought of such a thing weighed heavily
upon him, and he entered the city-room feeling like an accused person
when about to hear the verdict that shall either set him free or
consign him to a cell. Thus agitated, but setting his teeth and walking
bravely forward to meet his fate, Myles was stopped by hearing Mr.
Brown say:
“Oh, Mr. Manning, wait a moment, if you please. Here are the keys of a
vacant desk and of locker No. 20, that the city editor says you are to
have.”
The verdict was rendered, and it was in his favor. He need have no
more fears. The week of trial had proved satisfactory to his superior
officers, and they had decided that it was safe to place him “under
orders.”
[Illustration: “I DON’T SEE HOW WE CAN BREAK THROUGH THAT RULE, EVEN IN
YOUR CASE.” (_Page 96._)]
“Hurrah for the new reporter and future editor-in-chief of the
_Phonograph_!” he mentally shouted.
To all outward appearance, however, he was as calm as usual, and only
the heightened color of his face gave token of his excitement.
Taking the keys from Mr. Brown, and thanking him for them, Myles hung
his hat in locker No 20. His locker! Then he found the desk that was to
be his, unlocked its empty drawer, opened it, closed it again, and sat
down before it to indulge in a daydream of all the fine things he would
write at that desk; of the special articles he would prepare, and hide
away in that drawer until they should be finished and ready to win for
him a name.
These pleasant thoughts were interrupted, and Myles started as a hand
was laid on his shoulder, and Rolfe’s cordial voice said:
“Good-morning, Manning. Allow me to congratulate you upon getting a
desk. In this office the possession, of a desk is the sign that a man
is doing satisfactory work and is looked upon with favor. If, however,
at any time Mr. Brown should politely ask you for the key, you might
as well resign at once and look for another job, for you would get no
more assignments here. It would be the signal of dismissal. I am not
afraid for you, though, and I predict that you will hold the key to
your present position until you are ready to resign it of your own
accord. By the way, what are you going to make your special line of
work? Nearly every reporter, while of course always ready to accept
any assignment that is offered, has some specialty in which he excels.
Some take to politics, detective work, or court reporting, and some to
marine work, such as yacht-racing, wrecks, launches, and all things
connected with the sea. Others make a specialty of athletic sports, and
still others of society events. My own specialty, so far as I can find
out that I have one, is, I believe, humoristical. At least I have the
wholly undeserved credit of writing humorous stories.”
“I’m sure I can’t imagine what mine will be,” laughed Myles, who felt
particularly joyous just at that moment. “I don’t feel that I know much
about any thing, unless it is boats and boat-racing.”
Then he confided to Rolfe his desire to witness the great college
boat-race at New London, and asked his advice about applying for the
assignment.
“Certainly,” replied the other. “Apply for it by all means. Mr. Haxall
likes to find out in that way what the fellows are most interested in,
and makes a point of giving a reporter the style of work most congenial
to his tastes if he possibly can. His theory is that a fellow will do
much better if he is interested in his job than he would if it were
distasteful to him. Of course it does not happen one time out of ten
that a fellow gets the particular assignment that he would prefer;
but that is not Mr. Haxall’s fault, and he is always glad to have the
preference expressed.”
Thus encouraged, Myles stepped to the city editor’s desk, and,
interrupting for a moment the busy work of clipping memoranda from the
morning papers, made his request.
Mr. Haxall listened patiently to all that he had to say, and then
smilingly answered:
“I am very sorry, Mr. Manning, but that assignment has already been
given to Billings. I have, however, another piece of work for you that,
I believe, you will do just as well. It is of the utmost importance,
and will, I think, interest you greatly. I wish you would set out at
once and obtain every possible detail regarding this case.”
Thus saying the city editor handed Myles a paragraph that he had just
clipped from a morning paper, and instantly resumed his interrupted
work. Myles’ curiosity had been greatly aroused by these remarks, and
he imagined that some really important piece of work was about to be
confided to him. What was his disgust, then, upon reading the slip as
he slowly returned to his desk, to find that it was only a stabbing
affray among the Italians of the “Bend,” one of the filthiest slums of
the city!
“It is too bad!” he exclaimed to Rolfe, who was waiting to learn the
result of his interview. “The idea of giving me such a wretched job as
this, and trying to make me think it was such an important one too.”
“Oh no, it isn’t too bad,” laughed Rolfe. “It is only one of the little
jokes that Joe delights in, and he will chuckle over it to himself for
an hour. But, really, you know that job has to be done by somebody,
and he only gave it, impartially, to the first man who happened along,
which was you. It would have been just the same if I had gone to him
instead of you. He would have given it to me just as quick. Joe has his
failings, of course, like the rest of us, and sometimes I get awfully
provoked at him; but I must say that I consider him the most absolutely
just man I ever knew, and I believe his constant aim is to show perfect
impartiality in all his dealings with those under him. That is more
than can be said of most city editors.”
So Myles, somewhat comforted by these words, started for the “Bend,”
instead of for New London, and passed the greater part of the long hot
day amid such scenes of misery as only a great city can disclose. For
the next two days also, it seemed as though all the assignments of this
nature fell to him. At their end he was soul-sick of the disgusting
work he had been called upon to perform, and the desperate wretchedness
amid which he had lived. On the third morning, as he entered the office
in a dejected frame of mind, wondering what form of human suffering he
would have to encounter that day, Mr. Haxall called him and said:
“I believe, Mr. Manning, that you have had some practical experience in
college boat-racing.”
“A little, sir,” answered Myles, modestly.
“Well,” continued the city editor, “while Billings is a most admirable
descriptive writer, he is not as familiar as I could wish with the
details of timing a crew, noting their form, and so forth. I have
decided, therefore, to send you to New London to help him out. The race
will not take place until the day after to-morrow, but I think you had
better run up there to-day so as to be on hand. You will, of course,
report to Billings, and here is an order on the cashier for twenty-five
dollars for your expenses. If you need any more, Billings will furnish
it.”
Myles had so completely dismissed all thoughts of the boat-race from
his mind, that had Mr. Haxall offered him the position of managing
editor he could hardly have been more amazed than by this assignment.
He was, however, rapidly learning to conceal all signs of surprise upon
such occasions, and so, answering, “Very well, sir,” he took the order
on the cashier and left the office.
An hour later he was rolling out of the Grand Central station on
his way to New London, while the scenes amid which he had passed
the preceding two days were already fading beneath the influence of
pleasant anticipations.
Arrived at New London, he had no difficulty in finding Billings, who,
having secured for his own use the finest apartment in the best hotel
in the city, was now the centre of an interested group of reporters
gathered behind its closed doors.
“Hello, Manning!” cried the generally languid Billings, who now
appeared greatly excited. “Come in. You are just in time to take part
in our indignation meeting. What do you think the nice little boys of
the X—— College crew have gone and done?”
“I am sure I don’t know,” replied Myles, flushing at the tone in which
his recent mates were spoken of. “I don’t believe, though, that it is
any thing to be ashamed of.”
“Isn’t it, though!” cried several voices, while Billings said:
“It is something they ought to be ashamed of if they are not. Why, they
actually have had the cheek to put a big sign out in front of their
quarters bearing the legend, ‘No Loafers nor Reporters Admitted.’ What
do you think of that for impudence, when, if it wasn’t for the press,
as represented by us reporters, their little penny races would never be
heard of outside of their own little circle of friends? Now, there are
plenty of college graduates among us here. We know just how conceited
and ‘cocky’ these young fellows feel, and we can make allowances for
them, but this is going a little too far. What do you say to it,
Manning?”
With face as red as fire, but with a brave, honest look in his eyes,
Myles stood up and said:
“I expect I am responsible for this insult, gentlemen, and right here I
wish to apologize for it, both on my own account and in behalf of the
crew of which I was so recently the captain.”
Here there was a slight movement of surprise among the other reporters,
most of whom were strangers to Myles, and they regarded him curiously.
“Yes,” he continued, “I was captain of the X—— College crew, and I
suggested that, on coming here this year, we put up some such notice
as that of which Billings speaks. I did so in utter ignorance of what
sort of fellows the majority of reporters are, and because last year’s
crew was greatly bothered by one who made himself a perfect nuisance.
He hung about the quarters all the time, patronized the boys, undertook
to tell them that their style of rowing was entirely wrong, and tried
to have them change it to suit his ideas. Above all, his reports,
as published and widely copied, were so filled with absurdities and
falsehoods regarding the crew as made them a laughing-stock for the
community. I do not see him here this year, and I am glad of it, but,
for fear he would be, I suggested putting up that notice, because we
did not know how to exclude one reporter without making a rule that
should apply to all. I am sorry now that I ever made such a suggestion,
and still more so that my successor has seen fit to carry it out. If
you fellows will only have a little patience, and not send any thing to
your papers about this matter before my return, I will go out to the
quarters and see what influence I can use to have that notice removed.”
“Good enough!” exclaimed Billings. “You have spoken out like a
gentleman, Manning, and I think I can answer for every reporter here by
saying that we accept your very handsome apology for your share in this
unfortunate business. We will also give you the chance you ask for,
to exert your influence toward having the thing taken down, before we
begin to make it unpleasant for them in the papers; won’t we, fellows?”
“Of course we will,” was the almost unanimous reply.
There was, however, one fellow mean enough to slip unnoticed out of the
room and telegraph the whole affair to his paper, laying all the blame
upon poor Myles, whom he spoke of as having repented when it was too
late. For this act he was afterward kicked off the press-boat by the
other reporters, and so lost his chance of seeing the race.
In the meantime Myles and Billings hurried from the hotel, engaged a
horse and buggy, crossed the ferry to the Groton side of the river, and
drove rapidly up the pleasant country road along its eastern bank to
the X—— quarters.
As they drew up in front of the roomy farmhouse that Myles remembered
so well, he sprang out and found himself face to face with his old
rival, Ben Watkins. Ben, who was now captain of the crew, was walking
toward the front gate, above which was displayed the cause of all the
trouble.
“How are you, Ben?” said Myles, cordially, as he stepped toward the
gate with the intention of entering.
“Ah, Manning, that you?” answered the other in a constrained tone.
“Glad to see you—that is,” he added, hesitatingly, “if you come as a
friend.”
“As a friend?” questioned Myles in amazement, stopping outside the
gate, against which Watkins now leaned in such a manner as to prevent
its being opened. “What can you mean? How else could I come to the
quarters of the X—— College crew?”
“Oh, well,” replied Watkins, a little uneasily, “I heard you had gone
on to some paper, and I didn’t know but what you came as a reporter.”
“So I do come as a reporter, as well as a friend of X——,” replied
Myles, whose voice trembled a little, though he tried to speak calmly
and naturally. “I have been sent here to help report this race for the
_Phonograph_. But what difference does that make?”
“A great deal,” answered Watkins; “for I don’t see how we can break
through that rule”—here he pointed to the notice above their
heads—“even in your case.”
“Do you mean to say that, merely because he has become a reporter, you
refuse to admit to these grounds the man who was captain of this crew
only two weeks ago?” cried Myles, hotly.
“That’s about the size of it. If we exclude one reporter we must
exclude all. Those, I believe, were your own words. I’m sorry, but it
wouldn’t do, you know, to let friendship interfere with business.”
“If I acknowledge that I was a fool when I made that speech, if I tell
you that this miserable notice is one of the biggest mistakes you could
possibly make, and beg you, for the sake of the college and of the
crew, to take it down, won’t you do it?” asked Myles.
“No; I don’t think we will. Of course it is natural for you to think
that way now. Perhaps I would in your place; but, as I have not the
motive that you have to change my opinion of reporters, I rather think
we will let the notice remain where it is, and act up to it.”
“Then,” replied Myles, whose hot temper was rapidly escaping from his
control, “all I have to say is that, in putting up this notice, you
made a fool of yourself, and in keeping it up you not only disgrace
yourself but the college you represent.”
“And in reply to such a very friendly speech I would remark that when
a fellow, pretending to be a gentleman, relinquishes those pretensions
and becomes a reporter, he has descended to the level for which nature
intended him,” retorted Watkins.
“If it were not for breaking up the crew on the eve of a great race,
I’d make you apologize for those words, Ben Watkins!” cried Myles.
“You can’t do it, and you dare not try,” was the mocking answer.
Myles had so completely lost control of himself by this time, that he
would have answered this taunt by something much more forcible than
words, and undoubtedly Ben Watkins would have had cause to regret
arousing the wrath of the young athlete before whom the best men in the
X—— gymnasium had been unable to stand up; but just then a soft hand
was laid on the young reporter’s shoulder, and Billings’ languid voice
drawled out:
“Let the poor fellow go, Manning. He will hurt himself more than you
can hurt him in the long run.”
Myles allowed himself to be persuaded, and in another minute the two
reporters were driving rapidly back toward the city.
“It is too bad,” said Myles, presently, “that your chance of getting
a description of the crew, and how they live in training, and of the
boat, should be knocked in the head by that fellow’s stupidity.”
“Oh, I’ll get all that to-morrow,” was the careless reply.
“But they won’t admit you.”
“I guess they will, and tell me all I want to know, and show me every
thing I want to see. I shouldn’t wonder if they even invited me to go
out with them in their boat—and I’ll do it too.”
“Whatever can you mean?” asked Myles.
“Wait until to-morrow and I’ll show you the trick,” said Billings.