"Depends on which way you're going." "To the top, naturally." "From anybody else that would sound blatant, Ban," returned Tommy admiringly. "Somehow you get away with it. Are you as sincere as you act?" "In so far as my intentions go. Of course, I may trip up and break myself in two." "No. You'll always fall light. There's a buoyancy about you.... But what about coming to the end of the path and finding nowhere else to proceed?" "Paragon of wisdom, you have stated the situation. Now produce the answer." "More money?" inquired Tommy. "More money. More opportunity." "Then you've got to aim at the executive end. Begin by taking a copy-desk." "At forty a week?" "It isn't so long ago that twenty-five looked pretty big to you, Ban." "A couple of centuries ago," stated Banneker positively. "Forty a week wouldn't keep me alive now." "You could write a lot of specials. Or do outside work." "Perhaps. But what would a desk lead to? "City editor. Night city editor. Night editor. Managing editor at fifteen thou." "After ten years. If one has the patience. I haven't. Besides, what chance would _I_ have?' "None, with the present lot in the Inside Room. You're a heretic. You're unsound. You've got dangerous ideas--accent on the dangerous. I doubt if they'd even trust you with a blue pencil. You might inject something radical into a thirty-head." "Tommy," said Banneker, "I'm still new at this game. What becomes of star reporters?" "Drink," replied Tommy brusquely. "Rats!" retorted Banneker. "That's guff. There aren't three heavy drinkers in this office." "A lot of the best men go that way," persisted Burt. "It's the late hours and the irregular life, I suppose. Some drift out into other lines. This office has trained a lot of playwrights and authors and ad-men." "But some must stick." "They play out early. The game is too hard. They get to be hacks. _Or_ permanent desk-men. D'you know Philander Akely?" "Who is he?" "Ask me who he _was_ and I'll tell you. He was the brilliant youngster, the coruscating firework, the--the Banneker of ten years ago. Come into the den and meet him." In one of the inner rooms Banneker was introduced to a fragile, desiccated-looking man languidly engaged in scissoring newspaper after newspaper which he took from a pile and cast upon the floor after operation. The clippings he filed in envelopes. A checkerboard lay on the table beside him. "Do you play draughts, Mr. Banneker?" he asked in a rumbling bass. "Very little and very poorly." The other sighed. "It is pure logic, in the form of contest. Far more so than chess, which is merely sustained effort of concentration. Are you interested in emblemology?" "I'm afraid I know almost nothing of it," confessed Banneker. Akely sighed again, gave Banneker a glance which proclaimed an utter lack of interest, and plunged his shears into the editorial vitals of the Springfield Republican. Tommy Burt led the surprised Banneker away.