Riley reached for a sheet of copy paper, a signal that the interview had ended. But as the young man started away, a tired droop to his shoulders, he added:
“I didn’t intend to discourage you, Evans. You’re young, with plenty of time ahead. Not over eighteen, are you?”
“Sixteen.”
“You look older. Well, keep at it, and one of these days you may make the grade.”
Only slightly encouraged by the words, Jimmy pocketed his samples and left the office. Rather than face the knowing glance of the elevator man, he walked down three flights of steps to the street.
For months now, since graduating from Brandale High School, he had tried without success to obtain a staff position on a newspaper. There was scarcely a newspaper or syndicate in town where he had not been flatly rejected at least once a week. Few editors were as decent about it as Riley of the Ledger.
Jimmy shifted his camera to a more comfortable position, and wandered aimlessly down a street leading toward the waterfront. Where would one find picture material which packed a punch? It was all very well to talk about being in a place where news was breaking, but buildings didn’t explode or ships sink just to oblige an ambitious photographer. His prospect of ever landing a job on the Ledger seemed pretty hopeless.
“Hi, Jimmy!” called a familiar voice. “What are you doing in this part of town?”
Hearing his name, Jimmy turned to see Jerry Hayes, a boy who lived on his street, lounging in the doorway of a corner drugstore.
“Hello, Jerry,” he answered briefly. “Just out job hunting.”