The New Reporter
borhood of the park the next day, which was his day off, and for several more days. He told himself that it was because it was so hard to come down again. But when he did go once more he began to talk about himself and his work.
She seemed pleased at the opportunity to return a little sympathy.
"Yes," she said, missing the point entirely, "it must be awfully hard work."
"It isn't the hours and all that, I'm talking about," said Linton; "but don't you think it's sort of hard on one's self-respect, some of the things reporters have to do?"
Then he laughed, though there wasn't anything to laugh at, and wanted to change the subject.
"You don't care what people think of you—so long as you believe in yourself. That's what's so fine about it," she said. "Is that what you mean?"
It wasn't what he meant, exactly.
"Thank you," he said. "Look at those people on the four-in-hand. Why do they toot their horn here in the city? We'd all look at them anyway."
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