"I knew it," I said. I had known it the minute he came in the room.
"You've got to throw up your ten-dollar job, quit working all night on stuff that won't sell, and come on a paper and make some real money."
"I can't do it," I snapped.
"You can," said J. K.
"But I tell you I tried! I went to a paper——"
"You'll go to a dozen before I get through!"
"J. K.—I won't do it"
And he kept at me night after night. He was working for a New York paper now as a special correspondent. He had a talk with his editor and got me a chance to go on as a "cub" and write about weddings, describing the costume of the bride. At least it was a starter, he said, and would lead to divorces later on, and from there I might be promoted to graft. He talked to Sue and my father about it, persuading them both to take his side. Day by day the pressure increased. I set my young jaw doggedly and kept on writing about my roots.
"Look here," said Joe one evening. "Your sister tells me you're sore on the harbor. Then have a look at this." And he showed me a newspaper clipping headed, "Padrone System Under the Dumps."