And if he could make it interesting, he could make it pay....  But how was he to profit by all this hard work, this conscientious technical training to which he was devoting himself?  True, it was improving his style.  But for the purposes of Ledger reporting, he wrote quite well enough.  Betterment here might be artistically satisfactory; financially it would be fruitless.  Already his space bills were the largest, consistently, on the staff, due chiefly to his indefatigable industry in devoting every spare office hour to writing his “Eban” sketches, now paid at sixteen dollars a column, and Sunday “specials.”  He might push this up a little, but not much.

From the magazine field, expectations were meager in the immediate sense.  True, The Bon Vivant had accepted the story which The Era rejected; but it had paid only seventy-five dollars.  Banneker did not care to go farther on that path.  Aside from the unsatisfactory return, his fastidiousness revolted from being identified with the output of a third-class and flashy publication.  Whatever The Ledger’s shortcomings, it at least stood first in its field.  But was there any future for him there, other than as a conspicuously well-paid reporter?  In spite of the critical situation which his story of the Sippiac riots had brought about, he knew that he was safe as long as he wished to stay.

“You’re too valuable to lose,” said Tommy Burt, swinging his pudgy legs over Banneker’s desk, having finished one of his mirthful stories of a row between a wine agent and a theatrical manager over a doubly reserved table in a conspicuous restaurant.  “Otherwise—­phutt!  But they’ll be very careful what kind of assignments they hand over to your reckless hands in future.  You mustn’t throw expensive and brittle conventions at the editor’s head.  They smash.”

“And the fragments come back and cut.  I know.  But what does it all lead to, Tommy?”

“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.”