The Great God Success | Page 6

a profession where the
poorest are so poor in intellect and equipment? Why am I so dull that I
cannot catch the trick?"
He set himself to study newspapers, reading them line by line, noting
the modes of presenting facts, the arrangement of headlines, the order
in which the editors put the several hundred items before the eyes of the
reader--what they displayed on each page and why; how they
apportioned the space. With the energy of unconquerable resolution he
applied himself to solving for himself the puzzle of the press--the
science and art of catching the eye and holding the attention of the
hurrying, impatient public.
He learned much. He began to develop the news-instinct, that subtle
instant realisation of what is interesting and what is not interesting to
the public mind. But the time was short; a sense of impending calamity
and the lack of self-confidence natural to inexperience made it
impossible for him effectively to use his new knowledge in the few
small opportunities which Mr. Bowring gave him. With only six days
of his two weeks left, he had succeeded in getting into the paper not a

single item of a length greater than two sticks. He slept little; he
despaired not at all; but he was heart-sick and, as he lay in his bed in
the little hall-room of the furnished-room house, he often envied
women the relief of tears. What he endured will be appreciated only by
those who have been bred in sheltered homes; who have abruptly and
alone struck out for themselves in the ocean of a great city without a
single lesson in swimming; who have felt themselves seized from
below and dragged downward toward the deep-lying feeding-grounds
of Poverty and Failure.
"Buck up, old man," said Kittredge to whom he told his bad news after
several days of hesitation and after Kittredge had shown him that he
strongly suspected it. "Don't mind old Bowring. You're sure to get on,
and, if you insist upon the folly, in this profession. I'll give you a note
to Montgomery--he's City Editor over at the _World_-shop--and he'll
take you on. In some ways you will do better there. You'll rise faster,
get a wider experience, make more money. In fact, this shop has only
one advantage. It does give a man peace of mind. It's more like a club
than an office. But in a sense that is a drawback. I'll give you a note
to-night. You will be at work over there to-morrow."
"I think I'll wait a few days," said Howard, his tone corresponding to
the look in his eyes and the compression of his resolute mouth.
The next day but one Mr. Bowring called him up to the City Desk and
gave him a newspaper-clipping which read:
"Bald Peak, September 29--Willie Dent, the three-year-old baby of
John Dent, a farmer living two miles from here, strayed away into the
mountains yesterday and has not been seen since. His dog, a cur, went
with him. Several hundred men are out searching. It has been storming,
and the mountains are full of bears and wild cats."
"Yes, I saw this in the Herald," said Howard.
"Will you take the train that leaves at eleven tonight and get us the
story--if it is not a 'fake,' as I strongly suspect. Telegraph your story if
there is not time for you to get back here by nine to-morrow night."

"Of course it's a fake, or at least a wild exaggeration," thought Howard
as he turned away. "If Bowring had not been all but sure there was
nothing in it, he would never have given it to me."
He was not well, his sleepless nights having begun to tell even upon his
powerful constitution. The rest of that afternoon and all of a night
without sleep in the Pullman he was in a depth of despond. He had
been in the habit of getting much comfort out of an observation his
father had made to him just before he died: "Remember that ninety per
cent of these fourteen hundred million human beings are uncertain
where to-morrow's food is to come from. Be prudent but never be
afraid." But just then he could get no consolation out of this maxim of
grim cheer. He seemed to himself incompetent and useless, a
predestined failure. "What is to become of me?" he kept repeating, his
heart like lead and his mind fumbling about in a confused darkness.
At Bald Peak he was somewhat revived by the cold mountain air of the
early morning. As he alighted upon the station platform he spoke to the
baggage-master standing in front of the steps.
"Was the little boy of a man named Dent lost in the mountains near
here?"
"Yes--three days ago," replied the