酷兔英语

章节正文
文章总共2页
college. You have stood well in English. Your friends have all told you how

cleverly you write, and how beautifully, and so forth and so forth. You think
you can do newspaper work, and you want me to put you on. Well, I am sorry,

but there are no openings. If you knew how crowded--"
"But if there are no openings," she had interrupted, in turn, "how did those

who are in, get in? How am I to show that I am eligible to get in?"
"They made themselves indispensable," was the terse response. "Make yourself

indispensable."
"But how can I, if I do not get the chance?"

"Make your chance."
"But how?" she had insisted, at the same time privately deeming him a most

unreasonable man.
"How? That is your business, not mine," he said conclusively, rising in token

that the interview was at an end. "I must inform you, my dear young lady, that
there have been at least eighteen other aspiring young ladies here this week,

and that I have not the time to tell each and every one of them how. The
function I perform on this paper is hardly that of instructor in a school of

journalism."
She caught an outbound car, and ere she descended from it she had conned the

conversation over and over again. "But how?" she repeated to herself, as she
climbed the three flights of stairs to the rooms where she and her sister

"bach'ed." "But how?" And so she continued to put the interrogation, for the
stubborn Scotch blood, though many times removed from Scottish soil, was still

strong in her. And, further, there was need that she should learn how. Her
sister Letty and she had come up from an interior town to the city to make

their way in the world. John Wyman was land-poor. Disastrous business
enterprises had burdened his acres and forced his two girls, Edna and Letty,

into doing something for themselves. A year of school-teaching and of
night-study of shorthand and typewriting had capitalized their city project

and fitted them for the venture, which same venture was turning out anything
but successful. The city seemed crowded with inexperienced stenographers and

typewriters, and they had nothing but their own inexperience to offer. Edna's
secret ambition had been journalism; but she had planned a clerical position

first, so that she might have time and space in which to determine where and
on what line of journalism she would embark. But the clerical position had not

been forthcoming, either for Letty or her, and day by day their little hoard
dwindled, though the room rent remained normal and the stove consumed coal

with undiminished voracity. And it was a slim little hoard by now.
"There's Max Irwin," Letty said, talking it over. "He's a journalist with a

national reputation. Go and see him, Ed. He knows how, and he should be able
to tell you how."

"But I don't know him," Edna objected.
"No more than you knew the editor you saw to-day."

"Y-e-s," (long and judicially), "but that's different."
"Not a bit different from the strange men and women you'll interview when

you've learned how," Letty encouraged.
"I hadn't looked at it in that light," Edna conceded. "After all, where's the

difference between, interviewing Mr. Max Irwin for some paper, or interviewing
Mr. Max Irwin for myself? It will be practice, too. I'll go and look him up in

the directory."
"Letty, I know I can write if I get the chance," she announced decisively a

moment later. "I just FEEL that I have the feel of it, if you know what I
mean."

And Letty knew and nodded. "I wonder what he is like?" she asked softly.
"I'll make it my business to find out," Edna assured her; "and I'll let you

know inside forty-eight hours."
Letty clapped her hands. "Good! That's the newspaper spirit! Make it

twenty-four hours and you are perfect!"
"--and I am very sorry to trouble you," she concluded the statement of her

case to Max Irwin, famous war correspondent and veteran journalist.
"Not at all," he answered, with a deprecatory wave of the hand. "If you don't

do your own talking, who's to do it for you? Now I understand your predicament
precisely. You want to get on the INTELLIGENCER, you want to get in at once,

and you have had no previous experience. In the first place, then, have you
any pull? There are a dozen men in the city, a line from whom would be an

open-sesame. After that you would stand or fall by your own ability. There's
Senator Longbridge, for instance, and Claus Inskeep the street-car magnate,

and Lane, and McChesney--" He paused, with voice suspended.
"I am sure I know none of them," she answered despondently.

"It's not necessary. Do you know any one that knows them? or any one that
knows any one else that knows them?"

Edna shook her head.
"Then we must think of something else," he went on, cheerfully. "You'll have

to do something yourself. Let me see."
He stopped and thought for a moment, with closed eyes and wrinkled forehead.

She was watching him, studying him intently, when his blue eyes opened with a
snap and his face suddenly brightened.

"I have it! But no, wait a minute."
And for a minute it was his turn to study her. And study her he did, till she

could feel her cheeks flushing under his gaze.
"You'll do, I think, though it remains to be seen," he said enigmatically. "It

will show the stuff that's in you, besides, and it will be a better claim upon
the INTELLIGENCER people than all the lines from all the senators and magnates

in the world. The thing for you is to do Amateur Night at the Loops."
"I--I hardly understand," Edna said, for his suggestion conveyed no meaning to

her. "What are the 'Loops'? and what is 'Amateur Night'?"
"I forgot you said you were from the interior. But so much the better, if

you've only got the journalistic grip. It will be a first impression, and
first impressions are always unbiased, unprejudiced, fresh, vivid. The Loops

are out on the rim of the city, near the Park,--a place of diversion. There's
a scenic railway, a water toboggan slide, a concert band, a theatre, wild

animals, moving pictures, and so forth and so forth. The common people go
there to look at the animals and enjoy themselves, and the other people go

there to enjoy themselves by watching the common people enjoy themselves. A
democratic, fresh-air-breathing, frolicking affair, that's what the Loops are.

"But the theatre is what concerns you. It's vaudeville. One turn follows
another--jugglers, acrobats, rubber-jointed wonders, fire-dancers, coon-song

artists, singers, players, female impersonators, sentimental soloists, and so
forth and so forth. These people are professional vaudevillists. They make

their living that way. Many are excellently paid. Some are free rovers, doing
a turn wherever they can get an opening, at the Obermann, the Orpheus, the

Alcatraz, the Louvre, and so forth and so forth. Others cover circuit pretty
well all over the country. An interesting phase of life, and the pay is big

enough to attract many aspirants.
"Now the management of the Loops, in its bid for popularity, instituted what

is called 'Amateur Night'; that is to say, twice a week, after the
professionals have done their turns, the stage is given over to the aspiring

amateurs. The audience remains to criticise. The populace becomes the arbiter
of art--or it thinks it does, which is the same thing; and it pays its money

and is well pleased with itself, and Amateur Night is a paying proposition to
the management.

"But the point of Amateur Night, and it is well to note it, is that these
amateurs are not really amateurs. They are paid for doing their turn. At the

best, they may be termed 'professionalamateurs.' It stands to reason that the
management could not get people to face a rampant audience for nothing, and on

such occasions the audience certainly goes mad. It's great fun--for the
audience. But the thing for you to do, and it requires nerve, I assure you, is

to go out, make arrangements for two turns, (Wednesday and Saturday nights, I
believe), do your two turns, and write it up for the SUNDAY INTELLIGENCER."

"But--but," she quavered, "I--I--" and there was a suggestion of
disappointment and tears in her voice.

"I see," he said kindly. "You were expecting something else, something
different, something better. We all do at first. But remember the admiral of

the Queen's Na-vee, who swept the floor and polished up the handle of the big
front door. You must face the drudgery of apprenticeship or quit right now.

What do you say?"
The abruptness with which he demanded her decision startled her. As she

faltered, she could see a shade of disappointmentbeginning to darken his
face.

文章总共2页
文章标签:名著  

章节正文