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Adventures and Letters

rehearsals, a pastime in which he found an enormous amount of pleasure. The "McCloy"
mentioned in the following letter was the city editor of The Evening Sun when my
brother first joined the staff of that paper as a reporter.
NEW YORK, May 4,1906.
DEAR NORA:
I left Providence Tuesday night and came on to New York yesterday. Savage and
Williams and all were very nice about the help they said I had given them, and I had as
much fun as though it had been a success I had made myself, and I didn't have to make a
speech, either.
Yesterday I spent in the newspaper offices gathering material from their envelopes on
Winston Churchill, M. P. who is to be one of my real Soldiers of Fortune. He will make a
splendid one, in four wars, twice made a question; before he was 21 years old, in
Parliament, and a leader in BOTH parties before he was 36. In the newspaper offices they
had a lot of fun with me. When I came into the city room of The Eve. Sun, McCloy was
at his desk in his shirt spiking copy. He just raised his eyes and went on with his blue
pencil. I said "There's nothing in that story, sir, the man will get well, and the woman is
his wife."
"Make two sticks of it," said McCloy, "and then go back to the Jefferson police court."
When I sat down at my old desk, and began to write the copy boy came and stood beside
me and when I had finished the first page, snatched it. I had to explain I was only taking
notes.
At The Journal, Sam Chamberlain who used to pay me $500 a story, touched me on the
shoulder as I was scribbling down notes, and said "Hearst says to take you back at $17 a
week." I said "I'm worth $18 and I can't come for less." So he brought up the business
manager and had a long wrangle with him as to whether I should get $18. The business
manager, a Jew gentleman, didn't know me from Adam, and seriously tried to save the
paper a dollar a week. When the reporters and typewriter girls began to laugh, he got very
mad. It was very funny how soothing was the noise of the presses, and the bells and
typewriters and men yelling "Copy!" and "Damn the boy!" I could write better than if I
had been in the silence of the farm. It was like being able to sleep as soon as the screw
starts.
DICK.
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