“What is it that you have in mind, my boy?” inquired the benign Mr. Vanney.

“I start in on The Ledger next month.”

“The Ledger!  Indeed!  I did not know that you had any journalistic experience.”

“I haven’t.”

“Well.  Er—­hum!  Journalism, eh?  A—­er—­brilliant profession!”

“You think well of it?”

“I have many friends among the journalists.  Fine fellows!  Very fine fellows.”

The instinctive tone of patronage was not lost upon Banneker.  He felt annoyed at Mr. Vanney.  Unreasonably annoyed.  “What’s the matter with journalism?” he asked bluntly.

“The matter?” Mr. Vanney was blandly surprised.  “Haven’t I just said—­”

“Yes; you have.  Would you let your son go into a newspaper office?”

“My son?  My son chose the profession of law.”

“But if he had wanted to be a journalist?”

“Journalism does not perhaps offer the same opportunities for personal advancement as some other lines,” said the financier cautiously.

“Why shouldn’t it?”

“It is largely anonymous.”  Mr. Vanney gave the impression of feeling carefully for his words.  “One may go far in journalism and yet be comparatively unknown to the public.  Still, he might be of great usefulness,” added the sage, brightening, “very great usefulness.  A sound, conservative, self-respecting newspaper such as The Ledger, is a public benefactor.”

“And the editor of it?”

“That’s right, my boy,” approved the other.  “Aim high!  Aim high!  The great prizes in journalism are few.  They are, in any line of endeavor.  And the apprenticeship is hard.”

Herbert Cressey’s clumsy but involuntary protest reasserted itself in Banneker’s mind.  “I wish you would tell me frankly, Mr. Vanney, whether reporting is considered undignified and that sort of thing?”

“Reporters can be a nuisance,” replied Mr. Vanney fervently.  “But they can also be very useful.”

“But on the whole—­”

“On the whole it is a necessary apprenticeship.  Very suitable for a young man.  Not a final career, in my judgment.”

“A reporter on The Ledger, then, is nothing but a reporter on The Ledger.”

“Isn’t that enough, for a start?” smiled the other.  “The station-agent at—­what was the name of your station?  Yes, Manzanita.  The station-agent at Manzanita—­”

“Was E. Banneker,” interposed the owner of that name positively.  “A small puddle, but the inhabitant was an individual toad, at least.  To keep one’s individuality in New York isn’t so easy, of course.”

“There are quite a number of people in New York,” pointed out the philosopher, Vanney.  “Mostly crowd.”

“Yes,” said Banneker.  “You’ve told me something about the newspaper business that I wanted to know.”  He rose.

The other put out an arresting hand.  “Wouldn’t you like to do a little reporting for me, before you take up your regular work?”