The editor of the Tribune halted his hand an instant, read the last lines, scratching a word and underscoring another.
'Don't care!' he shrilled, as he went on writing. 'Used to slide downhill with his father. If he's got brains we'll pay him eight dollars a-week.
The city editor beckoned to me and I followed him into another room.
'If you will leave your address,' he said, 'I will let you hear from me when we have read the article.
With the hasty confidence of youth I began to discount my future that very day, ordering a full dress suit, of the best tailor, hat and shoes to match and a complement of neck wear that would have done credit to Beau Brummel. It gave me a start when I saw the bill would empty my pocket of more than half its cash. But I had a stiff pace to follow, and every reason to look my best.
Chapter 32
I took a walk in the long twilight of that evening. As it began to grow dark I passed the Fuller house and looked up at its windows. Standing under a tree on the opposite side of the avenue I saw a man come out of the door and walk away hurriedly with long strides. I met him at the next corner.
'Good-evening!' he said.
I recognised then the voice and figure of John Trumbull. 'Been to Fuller's,' said he.