I shall first serve my apprenticeship as a 'cub,' but ere many years, I
shall sit at a desk, run a newspaper, and tell the world where to get off."
"That is--If Dad says so!" chuckled Butch Brewster. "You know, Hicks, it's
the same old story--your father wants you to learn how to own steel and
iron mills, and when it comes to a showdown, you must convince Mr. Thomas
Haviland Hicks, Sr., that you'd make a better journalist than Steel King!"
"Nay, nay-say not so!" responded the happy-go-lucky alumnus of old
Bannister, as the perspiring" Dan Flannagan cranked away futilely. "My Dad
has a broader vision, fellows, than most men. He and I talked it over last
night, and he would never try to make me take up anything but a work that
appeals to me. While, as Butch says, he'd like to train me to follow in his
footsteps, he understands my ambition so thoroughly that he is trying to
get me started--read this:"
The lovable youth produced a letter, the envelope bearing the heading: "THE
BALTIMORE CHRONICLE;" Butch Brewster, to whom he extended it, read aloud:
"Baltimore, Maryland,
"June 12, 1919.
"DEAR OLD CLASSMATE:
"I'd sure like to be with you, back at old Yale, next week, but I can't
leave the wheel of this ship, the Chronicle, for even a day. Give my
regards to all of old Eli, '96, old man.
"As regards a berth for your son, Thomas. The Chronicle usually takes
on a few college men during the summer, when our staff is off on
vacations.
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