"Do you write other things?" asked the reporter carelessly.

"Oh, just foolery." The tone invited--at least it did not
discourage--further inquiry. Mr. Gardner was bored. Amateurs who
"occasionally write" were the bane of him who, having a signature of his
own in the leading local paper, represented to the aspiring mind the
gilded and lofty peaks of the unattainable. However he must play this
youth as a source of material.

"Ever try for the papers?"

"Not yet. I've thought maybe I might get a chance sometime as a sort of
local correspondent around here," was the diffident reply.

Gardner repressed a grin. Manzanita would hardly qualify as a news
center. Diplomacy prompted him to state vaguely that there was always a
chance for good stuff locally.

"On a big story like this," he added, "of course there'd be nothing
doing except for the special man sent out to cover it."

"No. Well, I didn't write my--what I wrote, with any idea of getting it
printed."

The newspaper man sighed wearily, sighed like a child and lied like a
man of duty. "I'd like to see it."

Without a trace of hesitation or self-consciousness Banneker said, "All
right," and, taking his composition from its docket, motioned the other
to the light. Mr. Gardner finished and turned the first sheet before