" But Banneker was not crude. He
was careful. His sense of the relative importance of news, acquired by
those weeks of intensive analysis before applying for his job, was too
just to let him give free play to his pen. What was the use? The "story"
wasn't worth the space.
Nevertheless, 3 T 9901, which Banneker was already too cognoscent to
employ in his formal newsgathering (the notebook is anathema to the
metropolitan reporter), was filling up with odd bits, which were being
transferred, in the weary hours when the new man sat at his desk with
nothing to do, to paper in the form of sketches for Miss Westlake's
trustful and waiting typewriter. Nobody could say that Banneker was not
industrious. Among his fellow reporters he soon acquired the melancholy
reputation of one who was forever writing "special stuff," none of which
ever "landed." It was chiefly because of his industry and reliability,
rather than any fulfillment of the earlier promise of brilliant worth as
shown in the Sunday Sphere articles, that he got his first raise to
twenty dollars. It surprised rather than gratified him.
He went to Mr. Gordon about it. The managing editor was the kind of man
with whom it is easy to talk straight talk.
"What's the matter with me?" asked Banneker.
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