“I’m keeping it, Stevens,” he said gruffly, “so there will be no comeback if you kick because I fired you. Don’t bother about any assignments to-night. You’re through right now.
“I sent you out to find out what a man would do if he had one hour to live. You bring back a story that has nothing in it. Jonathan Graham simply ignored the whole idea, and you were too dumb to ask him questions that might get him started.
“The column won’t appear in to-morrow’s paper. Your copy is no good, and neither are you. That’s final. Goodbye.”
“It was very late when I saw Mr. Graham,” pleaded the reporter. “Four o’clock, you know. I mentioned that in the story. He had a lot of work to do — I couldn’t bother him too much — “
“Get out!” ordered the city editor.
Stevens was dejected when he left the newspaper building. He had counted a lot on his job as a reporter. Now it was all over.
He stopped at a lunch wagon near his uptown rooming house, and ate a tasteless meal. Then he went to his lodging.
He sat mournfully in his room until nearly eight o’clock. His mind seemed unable to grasp the fact that his job was gone.
Some one knocked at his door. It was the landlady.
“Telephone call for you, Mr. Stevens,” she said.