"
Trotter laughed a little. "I've seen the city editor four times.
It's no use. He only throws me out."
For the first time Pyott, the managing editor, looked up. Then he
swung about in his swivel chair and stared at the youth, the
somewhat narrow-chested and calm-eyed youth who had the
effrontery to sit down without being asked. The calm-eyed youth
seemed in no way daunted by the ordeal.
"What do you want?" was Pyott's quick and curt demand.
"I want a job."
The editor's face darkened. Trotter could see that he had angered
him. He could see a lean hand shoot out and a lean finger push
down on the button that sounded a buzzer in the outer office.
"There's no use doing that till you've heard what I've got to
say," announced Trotter.
"Why not?" snapped the man, with a finger still on the button.
"Because your man Hubbart out there told me not to stick my nose
in here till I'd made good--till I'd got a big story. And now
I've got it. And I'm going to give you the biggest scoop you've
printed in five years."
"That's interesting!"
"I'd never have had the nerve to face you if it wasn't."
A boy appeared through the door.
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