You mustn't throw expensive and brittle conventions at
the editor's head. They smash."
"And the fragments come back and cut. I know. But what does it all lead
to, Tommy?"
"Depends on which way you're going."
"To the top, naturally."
"From anybody else that would sound blatant, Ban," returned Tommy
admiringly. "Somehow you get away with it. Are you as sincere as you
act?"
"In so far as my intentions go. Of course, I may trip up and break
myself in two."
"No. You'll always fall light. There's a buoyancy about you.... But what
about coming to the end of the path and finding nowhere else to
proceed?"
"Paragon of wisdom, you have stated the situation. Now produce the
answer."
"More money?" inquired Tommy.
"More money. More opportunity."
"Then you've got to aim at the executive end. Begin by taking a
copy-desk."
"At forty a week?"
"It isn't so long ago that twenty-five looked pretty big to you, Ban."
"A couple of centuries ago," stated Banneker positively. "Forty a week
wouldn't keep me alive now."
"You could write a lot of specials. Or do outside work."
"Perhaps. But what would a desk lead to?
"City editor. Night city editor. Night editor. Managing editor at
fifteen thou."
"After ten years.
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