The Little River news., 1919-12-24


 pie
 New kid" he muttered. Names Spade Just out of college an up against the harsh. crool world One of those pink-souled boys that shrink in storm. I'll bet Just heard old Macklin giving him hell as l came out"
 Milly slipped c napkin into Q tum, bler
 "Nice-lookins boy, ain't her" she murmured aDprovingly.
 "Pink-souled," sneered Clark "Too pretty for city room. They ought to pin . nastauranium in his button hole and send him to do musical criticism
 Milly took the omelette Spade had ordered from the slide, and set it down before him. In his eyes she read un- happy disillusionment, as she had read it in so many eyes before. Far more than the ordinary pity, however, surssd into her fiat breast.
 'On a newspaper?" she inquired.
 He murmured something.
 "A lot of boys who come in here are" she told him. Its time now for the bunch from college. Pretty hard work at first, they say. Kind of-dis couraging. After a while they make good, and then they cheer up. They tell ne then it's great game. They tell me that when they come to say good-by."
 The boy made no response.
 I've seen 'em come an I've seen 'em go" Milly went on. They've all been through what you got to tackle There's Mir Rose-Washington core spondent now-I hear about him from the boys Makes big money, guess Seems it was only last night he was sittin' here telling me he was through with the work forever. Then he did that story on the Collin wreck and 1 haven't seen-he hasn't been here since"
 Milly paused, and ret1ectively mopped the counter with very soiled rag Rose had meant to her something more than the others had meant. His apprenticeship had been longer and harder-his success the more brilliant when it finally came. She thought often now of the nights he had sat there before her and she had urged him to stick it out. She wondered if Rose thought of them-at all.
 Your day will come," said Milly suddenly. You'll make good like the rest"
 q don't know" Spade replied with out interest.
 Milly saw that she had not yet won her place She remembered that it had been Macklin who had given the new man "hell."
 Tt ain't so long ago." she said con tidentially, that Mr. Macklin, your city editor, was sitting here looking sick of life. He came in an told me he was going to take up bricklaying and let the newspaper profession get along without him, Say, he was blue
 Spade had looked from his omelette, and smile frightened his face. I'm glad to hear it." he said. Tell me about some of the others" And be- fore Milly set his dessert before him, she knew she was fully installed in her old role of comforter and friend.
 Many times, during the two months that followed, was Milly permitted to play her ancient part for this boy s benefit. Randolph Spade had been the pet of e nicely fastidious English de- partment at Harvard. He had edited the monthly magazine and written poems that compared favorably with those of a certain Swinburne. His critique on Edward Thompson, who- ever MT. Thompson may have been, had been pleasantly noticed by cele- brated New York editor. At one time it had been whispered about that he was writing a blank-verse drama for Maude Adams to star in.
 In consequence of these dignified activities, Mr. Spade had lofty ideas of journalism that conformed but poor wise despite his crocheted necktie and elaborate stickpin, he kept them to himself and thus managed to hold his job. But they galled on his soul rainy nights when he had to travel ten miles into the suburbs to talk with a gentle man whose daughter had eloped with the coachman, and he wondered dimly as to the why and wherefore of it all in terms dear to the philosophy depart ment at Cambridge.
 Nightly. when the paper had gone to press, he would confide to Milly his doubts and fears, and over the steak and pie she would give him from heI great store of comforting examples
 Your turnll come," she would tell him, as she had told so many others You just need the big chance to bring you out. I've seen 1t happen again and again. Your time'll come. an then it'll be good-by to Peters"
 But, Milly." he said many times 'I can't write any more. did the best class poem the college had known ir years-thats what the papers said, al least-and here my stuff sounds as though the office boy had written it 1 thought newspaper work meant re