and quite in the
tradition of The New Era. It was polite, polished, discreet, and, if not
precisely subtle, it dealt with interests and motives lying below the
obvious surfaces of life. It had amused Banneker to write it; which is
not to say that he spared laborious and conscientious effort. The New
Era itself amused him, with its air of well-bred aloofness from the
flatulent romanticism which filled the more popular magazines of the day
with duke-like drummers or drummer-like dukes, amiable criminals and
brisk young business geniuses, possessed of rather less moral sense than
the criminals, for its heroes, and for its heroines a welter of
adjectives exhaling an essence of sex. Banneker could imagine one of
these females straying into Mr. Gaines's editorial ken, and that
gentleman's bland greeting as to his own sprightly second maid arrayed
and perfumed, unexpectedly encountered at a charity bazar. Too rarefied
for Banneker's healthy and virile young tastes, the atmosphere in which
The New Era lived and moved and had its consistently successful
editorial being! He preferred a freer air to the mild scents of lavender
and rose-ash, even though it might blow roughly at times. Nevertheless,
that which was fine and fastidious in his mind recognized and admired
the restraint, the dignity, the high and honorably maintained standards
of the monthly. It had distinction. It stood apart from and consciously
above the reading mob. In some respects it was the antithesis of that
success for which Park Row strove and sweated.

Banneker felt that he, too, could claim a place on those heights. Yes;
he liked his story. He thought that Mr. Gaines would like it. Having
mailed it, he went to Katie's to dinner. There he found Russell Edmonds
discussing his absurdly insufficient pipe with his customary air of
careworn watchfulness lest it go out and leave him forlorn and unsolaced
in a harsh world. The veteran turned upon the newcomer a grim twinkle.

"Don't you do it," he advised positively.

"Do what?"

"Quit."

"Who told you I was considering it?"

"Nobody. I knew it was about time for you to reach that point. We all
do--at certain times."

"Why?"

"Disenchantment. Disillusionment. Besides, I hear the city desk has been
horsing you."

"Then some one _has_ been blabbing."

"Oh, those things ooze out. Can't keep 'em in. Besides, all city desks
do that to cubs who come up too fast. It's part of the discipline. Like
hazing."

"