He returned home saying to himself: “Very well, I will write it alone and they shall see.” Scarcely had he entered than he began to write, anger spurring him on. In an hour he had finished an article, which was a chaos of absurd matter, and took it boldly to the office. Duroy handed Forestier his manuscript. “Here is the rest of Algeria.”
“Very well, I will hand it to the manager. That will do.”
When Duroy and Saint-Potin, who had some political information to look up, were in the hall, the latter asked: “Have you been to the cashier’s room?”
“No, why?”
“Why? To get your pay? You should always get your salary a month in advance. One cannot tell what might happen. I will introduce you to the cashier.”
Duroy drew his two hundred francs together with twenty-eight francs for his article of the preceding day, which, in addition to what remained to him of his salary from the railroad office, left him three hundred and forty francs. He had never had so much, and he thought himself rich for an indefinite time. Saint-Potin took him to the offices of four or five rival papers, hoping that the news he had been commissioned to obtain had been already received by them and that he could obtain it by means of his diplomacy.
When evening came, Duroy, who had nothing more to do, turned toward the Folies-Bergeres, and walking up to the office, he said: “My name is Georges Duroy. I am on the staff of ‘La Vie Francaise.’ I was here the other night with M. Forestier, who promised to get me a pass. I do not know if he remembered it.”
The register was consulted, but his name was not inscribed upon it. However, the cashier, a very affable man, said to him: “Come in, M. Duroy, and speak to the manager yourself; he will see that everything is all right.”
He entered and almost at once came upon Rachel, the woman he had seen there before. She approached him: “Good evening, my dear; are you well?”
“Very well; how are you?”
“I am not ill. I have dreamed of you twice since the other night.”
Duroy smiled. “What does that mean?”
“That means that I like you”; she raised her eyes to the young man’s face, took his arm and leaning upon it, said: “Let us drink a glass of wine and then take a walk. I should like to go to the opera like this, with you, to show you off.”
* * * * * * *
At daybreak he again sallied forth to obtain a “Vie Francaise.” He opened the paper feverishly; his article was not there. On entering the office several hours later, he said to M. Walter: “I was very much surprised this morning not to see my second article on Algeria.”
The manager raised his head and said sharply: “I gave it to your friend, Forestier, and asked him to read it; he was dissatisfied with it; it will have to be done over.”
Without a word, Duroy left the room, and entering his friend’s office, brusquely asked: “Why did not my article appear this morning?”
The journalist, who was smoking a cigar, said calmly: “The manager did not consider it good, and bade me return it to you to be revised. There it is.” Duroy revised it several times, only to have it rejected. He said nothing more of his “souvenirs,” but gave his whole attention to reporting. He became acquainted behind the scenes at the theaters, and in the halls and corridors of the chamber of deputies; he knew all the cabinet ministers, generals, police agents, princes, ambassadors, men of the world, Greeks, cabmen, waiters at cafes, and many others. In short he soon became a remarkable reporter, of great value to the paper, so M. Walter said. But as he only received ten centimes a line in addition to his fixed salary of two hundred francs and as his expenses were large, he never had a sou. When he saw certain of his associates with their pockets full of money, he wondered what secret means they employed in order to obtain it. He determined to penetrate that mystery, to enter into the association, to obtrude himself upon his comrades, and make them share with him. Often at evening, as he watched the trains pass his window, he dreamed of the conduct he might pursue.
相关的主题文章：
没有评论:
发表评论