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Updated: April 30, 2025
This shop was interesting to him for some little time for this reason, for though he soon found that he did not want to be a type-setter or a reporter, or indeed anything much in connection with a country newspaper, he was learning about life.
"Well, you are a good reader, and have an intellectual turn, being fond of books; and a printing office must have more opportunities for mental improvement than the shop of a cutler. A type-setter can be acquiring new and valuable ideas when he is setting up written articles." "If that is so I should like it well; and I should think it might be as you say," Benjamin answered.
Why don't you go to Chicago and get on a paper? You could get something." "What could I get?" asked Eugene. "Well, you might get a job as type-setter if you'd join the union. I don't know how good you'd be as a reporter I hardly think that's your line. But you might study art and learn to draw. Newspaper artists make good money." Eugene thought of his art. It wasn't much.
He was presumed by the verdant patrons of the paper to be its owner and principal editor, its type-setter, pressman, and carrier. His hair was elaborately curled, and his ears were perfect racks of long and dandyfied pens; a broad, shovel-shaped gold pen lay forever opposite his high stool; he had an arrogant and patronizing address, and was the perpetual cabbager of editorial perquisites.
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