Herbert took the clipping and read it carefully. It told about the arrival in New York of Madame Bonneville, a celebrated French actress, who was coming to this country for the purpose of making her farewell tour. There was a spirited description of her arrival on the pier amid a cloud of trunks, packages and dress-suit cases, not to mention two or three bird cages, half a dozen umbrellas, a green poll-parrot and a pet poodle dog which she insisted on carrying in her arms and embracing in a most motherly fashion.
Herbert gazed at this account long and earnestly. It contained a brief interview with the actress, and while the whole thing was intensely interesting and human, it really contained little actual news excepting the fact that the actress had arrived and being wearied with her long journey, had retired immediately to her apartments. How to re-write and reduce this article and make it different from the clipping, and yet retain the news and the interest, was the problem that presented itself to the young aspirant for journalistic honors. He got down to work at last, however, because he felt that if a person intended doing a thing there was nothing like doing it. It would not be wise to theorize much while the assistant city editor was shouting for copy. Herbert never worked harder on any of the things he had contributed to his own little paper in the country than he did on the re-writing of this scrap of New York news. After much patient labor, he finally completed his work, and found to his satisfaction that he had reduced the article just one-half and still retained some semblance of a good story. He carried it over to the assistant city editor, who glanced at it hastily, and said sharply, without the slightest note of explanation:
“Won’t do. Too long. Put it in a stick or two.”
Herbert walked back to his desk rather disappointed. He knew that the news in the article could be put into a stick or two, but he felt instinctively that the item would be robbed of all its interest. However, he sat down once more and wrote a ten line paragraph, which met with the approval and acceptance of the busy assistant city editor.
He arose early the next morning and hunted for a copy of the Argus with much eagerness. He knew that the little paragraph which he had finally turned in at his first piece of work in New York did not amount to anything; but he could not restrain the longing desire to see himself in print for the first time in a metropolitan newspaper. He took the Argus and went over it with extreme care from the first to the last page. Nothing in the paper escaped his keen, inquiring gaze. When he had concluded he laid it aside with a sigh of disappointment.
His ten line story had not been printed.
CHAPTER XIII
HERBERT MAKES A HIT AND TIDES OVER A TEMPORARY FINANCIAL DIFFICULTY
Herbert was still young enough to be sensitive, and the thought that his maiden effort in the big city had probably found its way into the waste paper basket was galling to his natural pride. However, he braced himself and called at the office at noon again, and smilingly greeted his colleagues. He learned some things during the day, and one was a conviction that success on a country newspaper did not necessarily fit a man for immediate employment on a metropolitan daily. He had a long and confidential talk with Frank Tomlin, during the course of which he related his experience and the fate of his first item.
Tomlin laughed heartily at the recital.
“You can’t afford to be thin-skinned in New York, my boy,” he replied. “Besides, you are mistaken about your item. It was written all right, but was crowded out in the make-up.”