s in the largest
class in the history of McGraw, my winning of the junior oratorical
contest with a remarkable oration on "Sweetness and Light." Mr. Pound
was less fulsome in his praises, for he was by nature a pessimistic
man, but he could vouch for my honesty, though, to be frank, he had
been disappointed by my abandoning my purpose to enter the ministry;
yet he had known me from infancy, he had had a little part in the
development of my mind, and he was confident that I needed but the
opportunity to make my mark in any profession.

With such support, my air when I asked for Mr. Carmody was naturally
one of assurance. The office-boy, an ancient man in the anteroom,
handed my card and Boller's letter to a very young assistant, and where
my eyes followed him through a door I saw a number of men seated at
battered desks. Some were writing; some were reading; some merely
smoking; some had their heads together and talked in low tones. All
were in their shirt-sleeves; and none presented the dignified
appearance of my conception of a journalist, and especially of so
successful a journalist as Mr. Bob Carmody. I was confident that the
very young office-boy would pass them and go to the doors beyond, which
must lead to the true sanctum. No; where he stopped I saw a
wide-spread paper; over the top of it a mop of flaming red hair, and
bulging from the sides of it the sleeves of a very pink shirt. The
curtain was lowered, disclosing a round, red face heavily blotched with
shaving-powder. There was nothing of dignity in Mr. Carmody's
appearance; there was nothing in his rotund features to suggest any
high purpose or distinguished ambition; indeed, it seemed that he would
be content to sit forever on that small chair at that battered desk.

He dropped the paper, looked at my card, and read Boller's letter.
Evidently it amused him, for the half-burned cigarette in his mouth
moved convulsively, and as he came toward me there sprang up in my mind
doubts as to Boller's estimate of him. But he proved a good-natured
young man and certainly very modest. Sitting on the ancient
office-boy's desk, he addressed me in low tones, as though he feared to
be overheard. He was glad to know any friend of Boller's, but
evidently Boller was laboring under a misapprehension as to his
importance. He disavowed having any influence. Had he the power,
nothing would delight him more than to give a friend of Boller a job.
I had never thought o