The Old Reporter
No one would have thought him a born reporter from the way he handled his first assignment. It was to cover a monthly smoker of a university alumni association. "Being a college man, you may be interested in it," said the young city editor, smiling benignly at the bright-eyed boy, who bowed in a very grave way he had and marched down the office with the energetic walk which was to become a characteristic of that room—chin in the air, glasses sliding down his nose while pounding the floor with his walking-stick.
Now, young Woods was not a college man, and he had an exaggerated notion of the erudition of those who were. It was almost awe, and it persisted even after he had become the great Billy Woods. It amazed him afresh every time a new reporter that had an academic degree fell down on a story. "And that fellow's a college graduate," Billy would say, shaking his head.
The cubs of course were more or less in awe of the dashing star reporter of the paper, and turned to gaze after him when he stalked out of the room on his big stories,
222
