The St. Charles herald. [volume] (Hahnville, La.) 1873-1993, 1919-02-15
.1le Temporal
mental Boob
BY Fl. B. KNIGHT
By Fl. B. KNIGHT


Yep, that's right; want to see tn
editor in chief Of the Courier, an
want to see him quick"
To the utter amaZement of the littl
boy in knickerbOckers who sat in tn
hallway leading to the editorial offic,
of the giant publishing house a tall an,
lean visitor, with q general dapper APP
pearance, made the above remark il
an indifferent and even bored sort O
tone.
In second the office boy was on hi.
feet, and not carelessly leaning back il
his chair, with his feet upon the much
worn and misused, varnish-scratcheG
table, as though his only concern anG
ambition were to shirk and kill time.
your card, please" respectfully SAID
the fawning youngster.
The ianky newcomer looked sur.
prised.
CardT' he queried, unbelieyingly.
mo card! Tell the editor in chief that
q gentleman wishes to see him-and
hurry! There's NO use in my giving
you my card; the editor doesn't know
me, anyway"
Bewildered by the visitors impunity,
the boy looked HIM over from head to
foot. How neat and clean-eut was his
mien But closer observation re-
Vealed that his Patrician appearance
was artificial His clothes were of ex-
pensive texture, indeed, but shiny spots
shout the knees betrayed their years
~ wear. His shoes We're genuine pa
cent feathers, but so much worn that
wrinkles showed even in the profusely
cOiored tops; and the soEes seemed
thinner than paper. To crown it all,
linen and hosiery bore the familiar I'M
substantial shade and transparentness
common to all cheap wear; and the
flowing silk" tie came direct from he
window Of ten-cent store.
Calculating on the "valve for gold"
standard, the at first interested urban,
and even servile boy now appeared dis
gruntled. For a moment he revered the
commanding stranger. Now he thought
different.
What d'ya think GOV are2" scoffed
the little ruffian; man or half man?
The editor wouldn't see anyone with
out first KNOWN his name an learnin'
his business
"It's about some manuscripts" inter
Supted the newcomer, in an agitated.
impatient sort of way.
The boy went on talking nonsense,
the self-confessed writer suffering |
acute torture and waiting for seconds |
that seemed ages.
"You see, Bud" now a little more |
ambitiously disposed, once the appar-
ent hauteur Of the caller had vanished,
Il almost got canned once for lettin' |
in crazy poet that thought he was the
marvel Of the world, before the boss
could decide whether he (the latter)
was in or not"
May see the editor in chief?"
anew demanded the eager frantic
writer.
Gimme your card. first" repeated
the cruel and heartless urchin.
"Confound !" calculated the young
man. Again lose!" His voice was
spiced with pain, sorrow and despair.
Then he drew a deep breath and
himself out. Ignoring the |
boys reply he muttered determinedly,
half to the listener and half to him.
;elf:
'Oh, I'll see him somehow
With this pithy resolution in mind he
fastened out of the unfriendly hall, in
o the elevator, down into the dirty :
treet, and in few minutes found
limself on Times square, celebrating
y what subway he might get farthest
way from what in his opinion were 8
arrow-minded, hated, exclusive jour- {
alists who set their watchdogs, in /
erson of Office boys, out to hinder d
Dung talent like himself from proving
heir cart"
But where could he 60? Reverend
g traffic in streams moved down n
le streets, and nudging people flocked 81
nd crowded the sidewalks. He e.
anced at the peaceful green Of the K
Iuare; even there were people. After A
half-dozen unkempt boys had offered II
} shine his boots for a "jitney" he OF
anaged to make his way to one of nj
. benches and sat down among a dis .,
aguished company, consisting of rest "
& business men, habitual 'air breath. th
." and ordinary loafers-an ideal at ri
Dsphere. exactly the kind for a tenn la
tramp or poet. tn
From above lowered in midst of 9TH wi
skyscrapers the redoubtable Singer of
Hiding. The youth gazed at les lofti- or
IS. His eyes blinked in the binding W,
dance Of the soaring sun, and he an
rugged his shoulders In absolute dis
st.
You are an asst" he exclaimed.
ep, Bill Wilkins, you're an ass. st,
q thought you'd be rich some day, ma
! you're not. You thought you'd sts
re the price Of Singer building, ne
you won't. You haven't even got sol
irl. You're no g0Od-absolutely no he.
ID" Al
With this highly encouraging op:n- has
Of himself he succeeded in some VII
1t depressing his spirits. In fren- CIR
H.. Il, 1 ~.