Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1874-07-09
He Yearned To Be a Reporter.

He came up the four pair of stairs Sat
urday morning, and as soon as he recov-
cred his breath he wanted to know if the
Free Press would like to engage another
reporter He said he hadn't had much
experience, but he said it in tone which
meant to convey the idea that he knew
his business He was tall and thin, had
on plug hat which looked as if it had
been run over by a drove of mules, his
collar had sweat through and his ban
danna handkerchief was remarkable for
the many crevasses in it. His boots were
red with old age, and his pants were
stuffed into the tops. Nevertheless, his
face was one to command attention, and
his tones were respectful. In reply he
was told that there was always room at
the top of the profession, just as Daniel
Webster told young lawyer once upon
time. He said he thought four stories
high was about as near the top of pro
fession as fellow could get, but his joke
was too old to laugh at. He didn't want
much pay, he said, his object being to
identify himself with some growing jour-
nal and let the fleeing years bring him
wealth and laurels. He was but nineteen
years old, and he had plenty of time. He
said he could sit up three nights run
ming, ingratiate himself into the affections
of the police in one brief hour, and he
knew the firemen and the Captain of the
ferry would love him on sight. He
could report anything, he said, from a
dog-fght to a regatta, and he wrote a
lightning hand. He was used to relig-
ious meetings, knew all about medical
conventions, and would go for woman
suffrage or become Granger, just as the
paper desired. He preferred, he said, to
work all day and all night; but if the Of
fee had a rule requiring a man to sleep
three or four hours out of the twenty-four,
he would obey.
He promised much more. And his
tones grew more serious as he talked. He
was being consumed by burning ambi-
ton to WELD lead pencil, and ice-water
had no effect upon him. He was up in
grammar, posted in the poets, and as for
history, he could repeat every important
event from the hour the boy stood on the
burning deck down to Eli Perkins fight
with the "Fat Contributor" He had
brought along a few specimens of what
he could do--faint efforts scratched off
with chain-lightning velocity. He handed
one over. 1t read:
MURDERIll-About ten O'Clock last mite the cry
of murder was herd of our name streets,
and as usual the police not in site. The cries
was respected sevral times, being enuff to curdle
the blood of the bravest man that ever lived. Our
new reporter at once
The item was quietly handed back to
him, and he was informed that Detroit
was not his home. His talents were too
much for the town-too many years in
advance of it. They couldn't appreciate
him here, but in Chicago, nearer the set
ting sun-they were standing round on
the corners looking for such men.
You hain't foolin', stranger?" he
asked, his face expressing the gravest anx-
iety.
No, he could depend on it. 1t was a
solemn thing to fool with a young man
just starting out in life, and it was also
against Office rules.
"And Chicago is-is-?"
"Just 284 miles west of Detroit"
Good-by, stranger" he continued, as
he rose and picked up his bundle, and
put the end of his big cane under the
strap. "I'm very much obleeged to you
and if l don't walk it in four days it's be-
cause the railroad bed gives out!"-
Detroit Free Press.