The Old Reporter
decided upon in ten minutes. That is the way it is done in many a newspaper office. Billy told the desk that that was not the way they discharged men from The Day. "You ought to know," said the city editor. And for once Billy had no reply to make.
To those who asked him what he was doing these days, Billy said he was still writing "that book," and to anyone that would stop to listen, he gave interesting accounts of how various publishers were fighting for it. "Look at this letter—oh, I find I left it at the room, on the mantelpiece, I think; no, in my other coat," but he would tell in detail what this one said and that one said. It was good, sprightly dialogue. "Look at some of the stuff that gets printed and bound and is called a book!" Billy would exclaim, excitedly, "I ought to be able to write a book. Don't you think so?" They thought he ought, and went on about their business. "Good-by," shouted Billy, "I'll send you a complimentary copy when it comes out."
Like many another newspaper man he
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