"Don't you do it," he advised positively.
"Do what?"
"Quit."
"Who told you I was considering it?"
"Nobody. I knew it was about time for you to reach that point. We all
do--at certain times."
"Why?"
"Disenchantment. Disillusionment. Besides, I hear the city desk has been
horsing you."
"Then some one _has_ been blabbing."
"Oh, those things ooze out. Can't keep 'em in. Besides, all city desks
do that to cubs who come up too fast. It's part of the discipline. Like
hazing."
"There are some things a man can't do," said Banneker with a sort of
appeal in his voice.
"Nothing," returned Edmonds positively. "Nothing he can't do to get the
news."
"Did you ever peep through a keyhole?"
"Figuratively speaking?"
"If you like. Either way."
"Yes."
"Would you do it to-day?"
"No."
"Then it's a phase a reporter has to go through?"
"Or quit."
"You haven't quit?"
"I did. For a time. In a way. I went to jail."
"Jail? You?" Banneker had a flash of intuition. "I'll bet it was for
something you were proud of."
"I wasn't ashamed of the jail sentence, at any rate. Youngster, I'm
going to tell you about this." Edmonds's fine eyes seemed to have
receded into their hollows as he sat thinking with his pipe neglected on
the table.
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