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Newspaper Page Text
' ONE OF LIFE'S LITTLE MYSTERIES ,
j::!. !)! '
This is a true billof what happened once to a cub reporter.
This cub was "doing markets" on an evening paper published in
vr the capital city of a certain north
Qv central siaie.
flMfe I i I (Incidentally, he was doing this
JR'T lJr I at $6 a week. In towns where there
fr f ll-Il I are state Universities slopping over
raw-raw embry journalists willing
to cub for nothing a week, one
sometimes has to work at reporting
for less than ditch diggers' waes.)
He lived in a little back room in
.in unpretentious private house and
took his meals at the Busy Bee
lunch counter. By limiting his
breakfast to 10 cents and his supper
to 15, and by cutting out his dinner
altogether and having his last sum
mer's suit dyed a guaranteed fast
black, he managed to eke out a sort
of an existence.
He. had been at work but a fort
night. He was practically a stranger in the town. He had ifiet no
bod' outside those he saw at the office and in the commission Rouses
he visited on his beat. So far as he knew hardly half a dozen people
outside this narrow circle of men, knew of his existence.
Then he came home late one night after having covered some
little night alignment, to be met by the landlady with the amaz
ing information that a "beautiful young lady" had called for him
earlier in the evening. He said it was impossible that any beautiful
young lady should call for him, but the landlady insisted. No, there
was no mistake about it. She had called for him and had asked for
him explicitly, using hi, first name. She had gone away without
leaving any message.
That was all there was of the incident. Nothing further de
veloped in that regard. The girl went into the night. The cub. re
porter went on doing markets.
Presently the cub reporter was promoted to the government
building beat. And after a while he was fired and then he began to
drift from city to city and from desk to desk. Now he happens to
le founding the typewriter that types these words.
And so the years have passed.