Patsy smiled. Then:
"Good-by—Bull," he said very softly. His eyes half closed.
We waited in silence while the moments crept by, but Patsy didn't speak again.
HIS FIRST ASSIGNMENT
Tom Collins read again the inscription on the directory at the foot of the stairs:
Room 36 City Editor and Reporters
glanced again toward the elevator, again drew his letter of introduction from his pocket, and—again retreated to the doorway. Once more his heart had failed him.
The result of the impending interview with the city editor of the Washington Evening World meant so much to him that he feared to meet it. Another failure and—what? Surely not starvation. To a youth of nineteen, normally healthy and hopeful, the idea of starvation in a great city, surrounded by thousands of human beings, seems preposterous. And yet when the few coins yet remaining in his pocket were gone he would be absolutely at the end of his resources; unless—unless fortune favored him in the next few minutes. He had tried every newspaper office in the city with disheartening results; every office save this one. He reread, perhaps for the twentieth time, the letter he held, then placed it back in its envelope with a sigh. The words sounded so empty and perfunctory, the World was such a big paper, his own ignorance was so great, and—and he was discouraged. However—
He thrust the letter back into his pocket, jammed his cap resolutely onto his head, and strode determinedly to the elevator.
"City editor," he announced gruffly.