The Old Reporter
but he did not realize that; he suspected them of looking down upon him as an ignoramus, so he scowled arrogantly if he caught them glancing his way, unless, indeed, they got up courage to borrow his mucilage or ask him some question about the office rules for spelling.
Then he would open up, put them at their ease, discourse interestingly about the traditions of the office, and fascinate them, as he could anyone, man or woman, who came in his way. "No wonder Senators at the Fifth Avenue Hotel like to have Mr. Woods come up and slap them on the back!" "No wonder he can make anybody talk about everything," thought the new reporters, while the old one went on in his rapid style, "You'll soon assimilate the idea. Now, for instance, 'A dog bites a man'—that's a story; 'A man bites a dog'—that's a good story," etc., until in a lull there came the question—inevitable from very recent graduates:
"What college are you from, Mr. Woods?"
Billy always felt better when this was over.
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