Banneker returned from that interview with a map upon which had been
scrawled a few words in shaky, scholarly writing.
"But one doesn't say it's safe, mind you," had warned the shell of
Lionel Streatham in his husky pipe. "It's only as a sporting offer that
one would touch it. And the courses may have changed in seven years."
Denny wired in the morning that the inquiring traveler had set out from
Manzanita, unescorted, on horseback, adding the prediction that he would
have a hell of a trip, even if he got through at all. Late that
afternoon Gardner arrived at the station, soaked, hollow-eyed, stiff,
exhausted, and cheerful. He shook hands with the agent.
"How do you like yourself in print?" he inquired.
"Pretty well," answered Banneker. "It read better than I expected."
"It always does, until you get old in the business. How would you like a
New York job on the strength of it?"
Banneker stared. "You mean that I could get on a paper just by writing
that?"
"I didn't say so. Though I've known poorer stuff land more experienced
men."
"More experienced; that's the point, isn't it? I've had none at all."
"So much the better. A metropolitan paper prefers to take a man fresh
and train him to its own ways. There's your advantage if you can show
natural ability.
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