“Bill and the Dale boys dance and play tennis, live in fraternity houses, wear good clothes and study some in college but somebody has to work too hard so they can keep it up.”
“Well,” his father was smiling again. “What’s the answer?”
“Work!” Jimmie was not smiling. “If I go to college I’ll earn my keep. I’ll find a college town with an up-to-date newspaper. I’ll develop the candid camera and telescopic lens ideas as far as I can, then I’ll make them give me a job. And I’ll work, not just sit and wait for checks from home.”
“Son,” there was a warm light in his father’s eye. “I like to hear you say that. The greatest discovery any boy ever made is the fact that every tub must stand on its own bottom, every fellow pull his own oar, make his own way in the world.
“But, son,” his tone was deeply serious, “no one ever succeeded in a newspaper office without hard work and long hours. It’s the workingest place in the world.”
“I know,” said Jimmie. And at once his mind was busy on the problems that might lie before him tomorrow, and all the other tomorrows to come.
Next day Jimmie had the very unusual experience of seeing one of his own candid camera shots on the front page of the Press. This, however, was overshadowed by a startling discovery made shortly after his negatives taken at the ball game had been developed.
The picture, of course, was a candid shot of the city’s new idol, the millionaire pitcher. Inside the paper, on the sports page, were a half dozen other shots of Ogden Durant. Surely this was Jimmie’s big moment. As he came into the office Scottie, the scarred veteran of many pictures, shouted a cordial greeting.
“You made good, boy!” he exclaimed, slapping him on the back. “Did it with that old box of mine. I’m proud of you.”
Nothing could have pleased Jimmie half so much, especially as it came from Scottie.