Browning chief. [volume] (Browning, Mont.) 1941-1953, 1945-05-18
CHAPTER XVII
l got up respectfully.

on the creaking seat. He looked at
me, puzzled. "We've bought some
things from you, haven't we?"
"a few" 1 said as if the thing was
hardly worth mentioning.
Lets see, you're from Kansas,
or Missouri, aren't your"
Eyes, sir, from Missouri"
"You didn't have any trouble
about getting your last check, did
your"
''No, SIR"
He looked relieved. "Well, some
times you know how things
are"
nodded to show him I was an
old hand at such things.
He looked at me, evidently max
ing up his mind about something.
you're quite ways from home,
aren't your"
cts the first time I was ever in
New York. It's quite little burg!"
said and gave laugh to show how
quaint the place was. while was
here thought I would drop in on
you"
"I'm glad you did. Didn't you
write piece about the new names
that the government is making the
Indians adopt"
moved uneasily. "You sent it
back"
Then he moved uneasily. "Well,
knew I'd seen it. Maybe next
time you'll have better luck"
We both laughed a little.
How long are you going to be in
town."
II haven't quite decided"
All the time was becoming more
and more self-consciouS, and
couldn't think of anything to say -.
when for SO long had looked for
ward to this very moment. We
talked about this and that, but all
the time was growing more and
more i'll at ease. The conversation
died away; we worked hard and re-
vived it. With so little to say, I
could look at him more closely and
as I looked I saw something that
shocked me--a grease spot on his
necktie! A great editor with a grease
spot! Even if it was a small one.
Suddenly, almost with a binding
revelation, realized that he was hu-
man, had the same frailties and
shortcomings that other people had,
and relaxed and became more
natural. The artificial barrier melt
ed away and we talked in natural
manner. Really visited. 1t was not
long before words were flying and
we were laughing, when, at first,
my mouth had been full of cotton.
He followed me to the elevator,
both of US at ease. He became a
fine friend of mine and, later, be-
came magazine editor and still lat
er, drama editor of the New York
Herald-Tribune.
I thought could get job on the
New York World, after having been
on the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, but
it didn't work out that way. l went
from one newspaper to another, but
got nowhere. After telling my ex-
perience, would add, by the way,
I am the first student in the first
school of journalism in the world"
That usually ended matters, for I
did not realize how bitter the feeling
by old-time newspapermen was
against a school of journalism.
might as we'll have said, by the
way, l am dope addict" They
could have got rid of me but little
faster. I tried every paper in New
York and Brooklyn: even answered
an ad and went to New Brunswick,
New Jersey.
The situation wasn't desperate,
for I was selling few things. pot
boilers" they would be called today,
but l thought they were good. At
least, wrote them with all the skill
I could summon.
My weekly letter came from Pa.
"Dear Son." it always began and
ended, Every truly, Your Father"
To anyone else the news would be in
consequential; to me it was impor-
tant and vital. The cutworms were
at it again. There seemed to be
some indication of black rust. Chick
en- thieves had been in the neighbor-
hood.
I think one of the deep feelings of
anyone coming to New York is to
want the home folks to believe he
is doing we'll. I was lonesome, so
developed many correspondents,
and to each I painted as glowing a
picture of myself as I could. /
did not say, outright, I was pros
porous; but, on the other hand, I
didn't tell them wasn't. Then
hit on something very nice, indeed.
I became acquainted with a clerk
at the Hotel Astor and arranged to