s. The room rose and fell as the streets did when he had
had nothing to eat, and he scrambled out of the warm blankets and
crawled fearfully up a flight of narrow stairs. There was water on
either side of him, beyond and behind him--water blue and white and
dancing in the sun, with great blocks of dirty ice tossing on its
surface.

And behind him lay the odious city of New York, with its great bridge
and high buildings, and before him the open sea. The chief engineer
crawled up from the engine-room and came towards him, rubbing the
perspiration from his face with a dirty towel.

"Good-morning," he called out. "You are feeling pretty well?"

"Yes."

"It is Christmas day. Do you know where you are going? You are going to
Italy, to Genoa. It is over there," he said, pointing with his finger.
"Go back to your bed and keep warm."

He picked Guido up in his arms, and ran with him down the companion-way,
and tossed him back into his berth. Then he pointed to the shelf at one
end of the little room, above the sheet-iron stove. The plaster figure
that Guido had wrapped in his breast had been put there and lashed to
its place.

"That will bring us good luck and a quick voyage," said the chief
engineer.

Guido lay quite still until the fat engineer had climbed up the
companion-way again and permitted the sunlight to once more enter the
cabin. Then he crawled out of his berth and dropped on his knees, and
raised up his hands to the plaster figure which no one would buy.

THE REPORTER WHO MADE HIMSELF KING

The Old Time Journalist will tell you that the best reporter is the one
who works his way up. He holds that the only way to start is as a
printer's devil or as an office boy, to learn in time to set type, to
graduate from a compositor into a stenographer, and as a stenographer
take down speeches at public meetings, and so finally grow into a real
reporter, with a fire badge on your left suspender, and a speaking
acquaintance with all the greatest men in the city, not even excepting
Police Captains.

That is the old time journalist's idea of it. That is the way he was
trained, and that is why at the age of sixty he is still a reporter. If
you train up a youth in this way, he will go into reporting with too
full a knowledge of the newspaper business, with no illusions concerning
it, and with no ignorant enthusiasms, but with a keen and justifiable
impression that he is not paid enough for what he does. And he w