He owed her that much,
anyhow.
"All right," he said shortly.
He left, and on the street-car immersed himself in some disillusioning
calculations. Suppose he did sell the rejected story to The Bon Vivant.
One hundred dollars, he had learned, was the standard price paid by that
frugal magazine; that would not recompense him for the time bestowed
upon it. He could have made more by writing "specials" for the Sunday
paper. And on top of that to find that a really brilliant piece of
interviewing had brought him in nothing more substantial than
congratulations and the sense of a good turn done for a friend!
The magazine field, he began to suspect, might prove to be arid land.
CHAPTER XIII
What next? Banneker put the query to himself with more seriousness than
he had hitherto given to estimating the future. Money, as he told Betty
Raleigh, had never concerned him much. His start at fifteen dollars a
week had been more than he expected; and though his one weekly evening
of mild sybaritism ate up all his margin, and his successful sartorial
experiments consumed his private surplus, he had no cause for worry,
since his salary had been shortly increased to twenty, and even more
shortly thereafter to twenty-five. Now it was a poor week in which he
did not exceed the hundred.
Pages:
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435