The distinguished journalist wheeled about in his chair.
“What!” he exclaimed, “you want to be a reporter. Why, my dear boy, how old are you?”
“I’ll be eighteen my next birthday,” said Archie, “and, sir, I’ve had some experiences in the last two weeks, which make me feel as if I were about five years older than I really am. I’ve been through some very trying experiences, sir.”
The editor was interested at once. “Tell me what your experiences have been,” he said, and Archie began, and told him his whole story; how he had left home to win fame and fortune, and how he had worked on the farm for a week with Farmer Tinch; how he had been robbed the night he stayed with the tramps in the ancient ruins, and how he had finally reached the city. Then he told him of the night in the lodging-house, of his dish-washing experience in the restaurant, and how he had been taken from the street by a policeman the night before, and allowed to sleep in the station-house. When he had finished the editor had a broad grin upon his face.
“By Jove!” he exclaimed, “this is certainly rich stuff. There’s a good story in it, I’ll be bound.”
Then, speaking to Archie, he said:
“Just wait here a minute, my boy, and I’ll see if we can’t put some money in your way.”
He pressed a button at the side of his desk, and when a boy appeared, he told him to bring “Mr. Jones, please, or one of the other reporters. And tell Jones to bring an artist with him.”
The reporter and the artist soon stood before the editor, who told them, with great glee, that he had a leading feature for the next evening edition of the Enterprise. “Just talk to this boy, Jones, and see if you can’t make two good columns on the front page and two for the inside from his story. I think it’s great, myself. And you Cash,” he said, turning to the artist, “you make a good sketch of the boy.”
Archie could hardly believe his eyes and ears. Just to think that he was being interviewed, and that his picture was to be in the paper. It seemed almost too good to be true.