Witla half suspected that his boy was naturally lazy, but he wasn't sure. He suggested that Benjamin C. Burgess, the prospective father-in-law of Sylvia and the editor and proprietor of the _Morning Appeal_, might give him a place as a reporter or type-setter in order that he might learn the business from the ground up. The _Appeal_ carried few employees, but Mr. Burgess might have no objections to starting Eugene as a reporter if he could write, or as a student of type-setting, or both. He appealed to Burgess one day on the street. "Say, Burgess," he said, "you wouldn't have a place over in your shop for that boy of mine, would you? He likes to scribble a little, I notice. I think he pretends to draw a little, too, though I guess it doesn't amount to much. He ought to get into something. He isn't doing anything at school. Maybe he could learn type-setting. It wouldn't hurt him to begin at the bottom if he's going to follow that line. It wouldn't matter what you paid him to begin with." Burgess thought. He had seen Eugene around town, knew no harm of him except that he was lackadaisical and rather moody. "Send him in to see me some day," he replied noncommittally. "I might do something for him." "I'd certainly be much obliged to you if you would," said Witla. "He is not doing much good as it is now," and the two men parted. He went home and told Eugene. "Burgess says he might give you a position as a type-setter or a reporter on the _Appeal_ if you'd come in and see him some day," he explained, looking over to where his son was reading by the lamp. "Does he?" replied Eugene calmly. "Well, I can't write. I might set type. Did you ask him?" "Yes," said Witla. "You'd better go to him some day." Eugene bit his lip. He realized this was a commentary on his loafing propensities. He wasn't doing very well, that was certain. Still type-setting was no bright field for a person of his temperament. "I will," he concluded, "when school's over." "Better speak before school ends. Some of the other fellows might ask for it around that time. It wouldn't hurt you to try your hand at it." "I will," said Eugene obediently. He stopped in one sunny April afternoon at Mr. Burgess' office. It was on the ground floor of the three-story _Appeal_ building in the public square. Mr. Burgess, a fat man, slightly bald, looked at him quizzically over his steel rimmed spectacles. What little hair he had was gray. "So you think you would like to go into the newspaper business, do you?" queried Burgess. "I'd like to try my hand at it," replied the boy. "I'd like to see whether I like it." "I can tell you right now there's very little in it. Your father says you like to write." "I'd like to well enough, but I don't think I can. I wouldn't mind learning type-setting. If I ever could write I'd be perfectly willing to." "When do you think you'd like to start?" "At the end of school, if it's all the same to you."