AS THE young reporter entered the Phonograph office that Monday morning he wondered whether or not his week of trial had been satisfactory. Was he to retain his position, or was he to be politely told that he was a failure, and that the paper had no need of him? The anxiety aroused by the mere thought of such a thing weighed heavily upon him, and he entered the city-room feeling like an accused person when about to hear the verdict that shall either set him free or consign him to a cell. Thus agitated, but setting his teeth and walking bravely forward to meet his fate, Myles was stopped by hearing Mr. Brown say:
“Oh, Mr. Manning, wait a moment, if you please. Here are the keys of a vacant desk and of locker No. 20, that the city editor says you are to have.”
The verdict was rendered, and it was in his favor. He need have no more fears. The week of trial had proved satisfactory to his superior officers, and they had decided that it was safe to place him “under orders.”
“I DON’T SEE HOW WE CAN BREAK THROUGH THAT RULE, EVEN IN YOUR CASE.” (Page [96].)
“Hurrah for the new reporter and future editor-in-chief of the Phonograph!” he mentally shouted.
To all outward appearance, however, he was as calm as usual, and only the heightened color of his face gave token of his excitement.
Taking the keys from Mr. Brown, and thanking him for them, Myles hung his hat in locker No 20. His locker! Then he found the desk that was to be his, unlocked its empty drawer, opened it, closed it again, and sat down before it to indulge in a daydream of all the fine things he would write at that desk; of the special articles he would prepare, and hide away in that drawer until they should be finished and ready to win for him a name.
These pleasant thoughts were interrupted, and Myles started as a hand was laid on his shoulder, and Rolfe’s cordial voice said: