The paper with which I was eventually connected was the Cleveland Leader, which represented all that was conservative in the local life. Wandering into its office on the second or third day of my stay, I was met at the desk of the city editor by a small, boyish-looking person of a ferret-like countenance, who wanted to know what I was after. I told him, and he said there was nothing, but on hearing of the papers with which I had been connected and the nature of the work I had done he suggested that possibly I might be able to do something for the Sunday edition. The Sunday editor proved to be a tall, melancholy man with sad eyes, a sallow face, sunken cheeks, narrow shoulders and a general air of weariness and depression.
“What is it, now, you want?” he asked slowly, looking up from his musty roll-top desk.
“Your city editor suggested that possibly you might have some Sunday work for me to do. I’ve had experience in this line in Chicago and St. Louis.”
“Yes,” he said not asking me to sit down. “Well, now, what do you think you could write about?”
This was a poser. Being new to the city I had not thought of any particular thing, and could not at this moment. I told him this.
“There’s one thing you might write about if you could. Did you ever hear of a new-style grain-boat they are putting on the Lakes called——”
“Turtle-back?” I interrupted.
“Turtle-back?” went on the editor indifferently. “Well, there’s one here now in the harbor. It’s the first one to come here. Do you think you could get up something on that?”
“I’m sure I could. I’d like to try. Do you use pictures?”
“You might get a photo or two; we could have drawings made from them.”