IV

“I was surprised at not seeing my second article on Algeria in the paper this morning, sir,” said he.

The manager raised his head, and replied in a dry tone: “I gave it to your friend Forestier, and asked him to read it through. He did not think it up to the mark; you must rewrite it.”

Duroy, in a rage, went out without saying a word, and abruptly entering his old comrade’s room, said:

“Why didn’t you let my article go in this morning?”

The journalist was smoking a cigarette with his back almost on the seat of his armchair and his feet on the table, his heels soiling an article already commenced. He said slowly, in a bored and distant voice, as though speaking from the depths of a hole: “The governor thought it poor, and told me to give it back to you to do over again. There it is.” And he pointed out the slips flattened out under a paperweight.

Duroy, abashed, could find nothing to say in reply, and as he was putting his prose into his pocket, Forestier went on: “Today you must first of all go to the Prefecture.” And he proceeded to give a list of business errands and items of news to be attended to.

Duroy went off without having been able to find the cutting remark he wanted to. He brought back his article the next day. It was returned to him again. Having rewritten it a third time, and finding it still refused, he understood that he was trying to go ahead too fast, and that Forestier’s hand alone could help him on his way. He did not therefore say anything more about the “Recollections of a Chasseur d’Afrique,” promising himself to be supple and cunning since it was needful, and while awaiting something better to zealously discharge his duties as a reporter.

He learned to know the way behind the scenes in theatrical and political life; the waiting-rooms of statesmen and the lobby of the Chamber of