to do but wonder how you'll have the courage to face the cashier on pay
day. It's the system. Your chance will come."

It was three days before Howard had a chance. On a Sunday afternoon the
Assistant City Editor who was in charge of the City Desk for the day sent
him up to the Park to write a descriptive story of the crowds. "Try to get
a new point of view," he said, "and let yourself loose. There's usually
plenty of room in Monday's paper."

Howard wandered through the Central Park for two hours, struggling for the
"new point of view" of the crowds he saw there--these monotonous millions,
he thought, lazily drinking at a vast trough of country air in the heart of
the city. He planned an article carefully as he dined alone at the Casino.
He went down to the office early and wrote diligently--about two thousand
words. When he had finished, the Night City Editor told him that he might
go as there would be nothing more that night.

He was in the street at seven the next morning. As he walked along with a
News-Record, bought at the first news-stand, he searched every page: first,
the larger "heads"--such a long story would call for a "big head;" then the
smaller "heads"--they may have been crowded and have had to cut it down;
then the single-line "heads"--surely they found a "stickful" or so worth
printing.

At last he found it. A dozen items in the smallest type, agate, were
grouped under the general heading "City Jottings" at the end of an inside
column of an inside page. The first of these City Jottings was two lines in
length:

"The millions were in the Central Park yesterday, lazily drinking at that