Herbert Cressey’s clumsy but involuntary protest reasserted itself in Banneker’s mind. “I wish you would tell me frankly, Mr. Vanney, whether reporting is considered undignified and that sort of thing?”
“Reporters can be a nuisance,” replied Mr. Vanney fervently. “But they can also be very useful.”
“But on the whole—”
“On the whole it is a necessary apprenticeship. Very suitable for a young man. Not a final career, in my judgment.”
“A reporter on The Ledger, then, is nothing but a reporter on The Ledger.”
“Isn’t that enough, for a start?” smiled the other. “The station-agent at—what was the name of your station? Yes, Manzanita. The station-agent at Manzanita—”
“Was E. Banneker,” interposed the owner of that name positively. “A small puddle, but the inhabitant was an individual toad, at least. To keep one’s individuality in New York isn’t so easy, of course.”
“There are quite a number of people in New York,” pointed out the philosopher, Vanney. “Mostly crowd.”
“Yes,” said Banneker. “You’ve told me something about the newspaper business that I wanted to know.” He rose.
The other put out an arresting hand. “Wouldn’t you like to do a little reporting for me, before you take up your regular work?”