No other office in town
was endurable for a gentleman. Other editors treated their men like
muckers. The worst assignment given out from The Ledger desk was a
perfumed cinch in comparison with what the average city room dealt out.
And he gave a formidable sketch of the careers (invariably downhill) of
reckless souls who had forsaken the true light of The Ledger for the
false lures which led into outer and unfathomable darkness. By this
system of subtly threatened excommunication had The Ledger saved to
itself many a good man who might otherwise have gone farther and not
necessarily fared worse. Banneker was not frightened. But he did give
more than a thought to the considerate standards and generous
comradeship of the office. Only--was it worth the price in occasional
humiliation?
Sitting, idle at his desk in one of the subsequent periods of penance,
he bethought him of the note on the stationery of The New Era Magazine,
signed, "Yours very truly, Richard W. Gaines." Perhaps this was
opportunity beckoning. He would go to see the Great Gaines.
The Great Gaines received him with quiet courtesy. He was a stubby,
thick, bearded man who produced an instant effect of entire candor. So
peculiar and exotic was this quality that it seemed to set him apart
from the genus of humankind in an aura of alien and daunting honesty.
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