Under Orders: The story of a young reporter. Munroe Kirk

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any of the others, I can tell you.”

      Mr. Haxall was kindly polite, almost cordial in his manner, and listened attentively to Myles’ brief explanation of his position and hopes. When it was finished he, too, was beginning to say, “I am very sorry, Mr. Manning, but we have already more men than we know what to do with,” when Van Cleef said something to him in so low a tone that Myles did not catch what it was.

      “Is that so?” said Mr, Haxall, reflectively, and looking at Myles with renewed interest. “It might be made very useful, that’s a fact. Well, I’ll strain a point and try him.”

      Then to Myles he said:

      “Still, we are always on the lookout for bright, steady young fellows who mean business. So if you want to come, and will report here at sharp eleven o’clock to-morrow morning, I will take you on trial till next Saturday and pay you at the rate of fifteen dollars per week.”

       CHAPTER III.

      THE OLD GENTLEMAN OF THE OXYGEN

      POOR Myles had met with so many rebuffs and disappointments, and his own opinion of himself had been so decidedly lowered that afternoon, that he was fully prepared to have his offer of service refused by the city editor of the Phonograph. He was therefore not at all surprised when Mr. Haxall began in his kindly but unmistakable way to tell him that there was no vacancy. He had already made up his mind to give up trying for a reporter’s position and make an effort in some other direction, when, to his amazement, he found himself accepted and ordered to report for duty the following day. It was incomprehensible. What had Van Cleef said to influence the city editor so remarkably?

      There was no chance to ask just then, for Mr. Haxall had already resumed his reading of the evening papers, a great pile of which lay on his desk, and Myles realized that the short interview, by which the whole course of his life was to be affected, was at an end. So he merely said: “Thank you, sir, I’ll be on hand,” and turned to follow Van Cleef, who had already started toward the door.

      The boy’s mind was in a conflicting whirl of thoughts, and he was conscious of a decided sense of exaltation. He had actually got into business and was to receive a salary. To be sure, it was only promised for one week; but even in that short time he felt that he could prove so useful that the city editor would wonder how he had ever got along without him.

      As they passed into the anteroom of the office Van Cleef introduced his companion to a Mr. Brown, a stout, middle-aged man, who occupied a dingy little den, in which he was busily writing by the light of a single gas-jet. Mr. Brown was affably condescending, was pleased to make Mr. Manning’s acquaintance, and hoped he would like the office.

      As they bade him good-evening and started downstairs Myles asked:

      “Who is this Mr. Brown, Van? Is he one of the editors?”

      “Bless you, no,” laughed Van Cleef. “He is the janitor of the building.”

      “The janitor!” exclaimed Myles, with a slight tone of contempt in his voice. “Why, I thought he must be the managing editor at the very least. What on earth did you want to introduce me to the janitor for? I’m not in the habit of knowing such people.”

      “Oh, you are not, aren’t you!” replied Van Cleef, a little scornfully. “Well, the sooner you form the habit the better you will get along as a reporter. It’s no use putting on airs, old man,” he continued, more kindly. “A reporter has got to be on friendly terms with all sorts of men, from presidents to janitors, and a good deal lower in the social scale than that too. Besides, Brown is a mighty good fellow, as you will find out when you come to know him. He also occupies a position in which he can smooth your path or make you uncomfortable in many little ways, as he takes a notion. Why, for one thing, he has charge of all those rascals of office-boys, and they will treat you respectfully or the reverse according as they see that you are in Brown’s good or bad graces. That seems a little thing, but you will find that it makes a great difference to your peace of mind. Oh, yes, you must cultivate Brown by all means.”

      When they were seated in the elevated train on their way up-town Myles suddenly remembered his companion’s mysterious communication to the city editor, and asked him what he had said to cause Mr. Haxall to alter his decision so completely.

      “It was evident,” he continued, “that he was about to give me a polite dismissal, but you whispered a word or two in his ear and he immediately engaged me. What was it? Did you tell him I was one of the principal stockholders in the paper?”

      Van Cleef burst into a fit of laughter so uncontrollable that it was a full minute before he could answer. At last he said:

      “No, indeed; I didn’t tell him that you were a stockholder in the paper; for, in the first place, I didn’t know that you were. In the second place, the stockholders are the bane of his existence, and worry him more than anybody else by forcing worthless fellows, who have some claim upon them, into his department. Oh, no, I wasn’t going to ruin your chances by representing you in any such unfavorable light as that.”

      “What did you tell him then?”

      “Why, I simply mentioned that you owned a dress-suit.”

      For a moment Myles stared at his companion in speechless amazement. Finally he gasped out:

      “A dress-suit! You told him that I owned a dress-suit! What in the name of common sense could that have to do with his taking me on as a reporter? Or are you only joking?”

      “Not a bit of it,” answered Van Cleef. “It honestly was the dress-suit, and nothing else, unless it was your manner and personal appearance that fixed the business for you. You see, there are lots of places to which a city editor wishes to send a reporter where only fellows in full evening dress are admitted. Now, most reporters are too poor to own dress-suits, or else they have so little use for such luxuries that they don’t care to go to the expense. Thus it is often hard for the city editor to find a man for some important bit of work just on this account. He therefore keeps a list of all the reporters on the staff who own swallow-tails, and is mighty glad to add to it, especially if the proposed addition is evidently a gentleman. I saw that he wasn’t going to give you a show, and just then it occurred to me to suggest the only special recommendation I could think of. But what makes you look so downcast? It worked all right, didn’t it?”

      “Oh, yes,” answered Myles, whose self-esteem had just received the severest shock of the day by learning the secret of his recent success, which he had fondly imagined was owing to something far different. “Yes, it worked all right; but I’ve always heard that clothes did not make the man, while here is proof positive that clothes can at least make a reporter. It is awfully humiliating, and the worst of it is that I haven’t a dress-suit.”

      “Why, I have seen you wear it time and again?” exclaimed Van Cleef.

      “Yes, but I found it necessary to raise a little ready money to-day,” answered Myles, though he hated to make the admission; “so I sold it along with some other things I thought I should never need again to Johnny, the ‘old-clo’ man.’”

      “You don’t mean it!” cried Van Cleef. “Well, that is bad, and the only thing for you to do is to go to Johnny first thing in the morning and make him let you have it back.”

      “But I am afraid I haven’t money enough to redeem it,” said Myles, with a heightened color. In the set to which he had so recently belonged poverty was the thing most sneered at, and Myles had not yet learned that it was one of the last things to be ashamed of.

      “Oh,

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