"Yes."
"It's a hell of a life. Better keep out."
"I'd like to try it."
"Any experience?"
"Only correspondence. I've had two years at college."
The city editor snorted. He had the unreasoning contempt for
college men so often found in the old-time newspaper hack.
"Then you don't want to be a reporter. You want to be a
journalist," he jeered.
"They kicked me out," Jeff went on quietly.
"Sounds better. Why?"
Jeff hesitated. "I got drunk."
"Can't use you," Warren cut in hastily.
"I've quit--sworn off."
The city editor was back on the job, his eyes devouring copy.
"Heard that before. Nothing to it," he grunted.
"Give me a trial. I'll show you."
"Don't want a man that drinks. Office crowded with 'em already."
Jeff held his ground. For five minutes the attention of Warren was
focused on his work.
Suddenly he snapped out, "Well?"
He met Farnum's ingratiating smile. "You haven't told me yet what
to start doing."
"I told you I didn't want you."
"But you do. I'm on the wagon."
"For how long?" jeered the city editor.
"For good."
Warren sized him up again. He saw a cleareyed young fellow without
a superfluous ounce of flesh on him, not rugged but with a look of
strength in the slender figure and the thin face.
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