The city editor of the Brooklyn Eagle had given Edward the assignment of covering the news of the theatres; he was to ascertain “coming attractions” and any other dramatic items of news interest.  One Monday evening, when a multiplicity of events crowded the reportorial corps, Edward was delegated to “cover” the Grand Opera House, where Rose Coghlan was to appear in a play that had already been seen in Brooklyn, and called, therefore, for no special dramatic criticism.  Yet The Eagle wanted to cover it.  It so happened that Edward had made another appointment for that evening which he considered more important, and yet not wishing to disappoint his editor he accepted the assignment.  He had seen Miss Coghlan in the play; so he kept his other engagement, and without approaching the theatre he wrote a notice to the effect that Miss Coghlan acted her part, if anything, with greater power than on her previous Brooklyn visit, and so forth, and handed it in to his city editor the next morning on his way to business.

Unfortunately, however, Miss Coghlan had been taken ill just before the raising of the curtain, and, there being no understudy, no performance had been given and the audience dismissed.  All this was duly commented upon by the New York morning newspapers.  Edward read this bit of news on the ferry-boat, but his notice was in the hands of the city editor.

On reaching home that evening he found a summons from The Eagle, and the next morning he received a rebuke, and was informed that his chances with the paper were over.  The ready acknowledgment and evident regret of the crestfallen boy, however, appealed to the editor, and before the end of the week he called the boy to him and promised him another chance, provided the lesson had sunk in.  It had, and it left a lasting impression.  It was always a cause of profound gratitude with Edward Bok that his first attempt at “faking” occurred so early in his journalistic career that he could take the experience to heart and profit by it.

One evening when Edward was attending a theatrical performance, he noticed the restlessness of the women in the audience between the acts.  In those days it was, even more than at present, the custom for the men to go out between the acts, leaving the women alone.  Edward looked at the programme in his hands.  It was a large eleven-by-nine sheet, four pages, badly printed, with nothing in it save the cast, a few advertisements, and an announcement of some coming attraction.  The boy mechanically folded the programme, turned it long side up and wondered whether a programme of this smaller size, easier to handle, with an attractive cover and some reading-matter, would not be profitable.