I'm going to beat
it."
"Maybe. You've got the brains. But I think you're too stiff in the
backbone. Go-to-hell-if-you-don't-like-the-way-I-do-it may be all right
for a hundred-dollar-a-week job; but it doesn't get you a managing
editorship at fifteen to twenty thousand. Even if it did, you'd give up
the go-to-hell attitude as soon as you landed, for fear it would cost
you your job and be too dear a luxury."
"All right, Mr. Walpole," laughed Banneker. "When I find what my price
is, I'll let you know. Meantime I'll think over your well-meant advice."
If the normal way of advancement were closed to him in The Ledger office
because of his unsound and rebellious attitude on social and labor
questions, there might be better opportunities in other offices,
Banneker reflected.
Before taking any step he decided to talk over the general situation
with that experienced campaigner, Russell Edmonds. Him and his
diminutive pipe he found at Katie's, after most of the diners had left.
The veteran nodded when Banneker told him of his having reached what
appeared to be a _cul-de-sac_.
"It's about time you quit," said Edmonds vigorously.
"You've changed your mind?"
The elder nodded between two spirals of smoke which gave him the
appearance of an important godling delivering oracles through incense.
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