Presently Riley finished with the reporter and turned to Jimmy again.
“About your pictures, son,” he said. “They’re pretty fair art. What they lack is news punch. The woods are full of fellows who can take pretty pictures; but they wouldn’t recognize a good news shot if you labeled it for them.”
“I’m always anxious to pick up ideas,” answered Jimmy. “Any tips you can give me will be a big help—that is, if you can spare the time, Mr. Riley.”
Jimmy was a tall, slender lad with a thick shock of dark, curly hair and frank gray eyes set in a pleasant, firmly molded face.
The editor smiled at the young man’s persistence and swept a pile of copy paper to one side.
“Well, this thing they call ‘punch’ is hard to define,” he began. “Sometimes it’s a picture which ties up with a big front page story. For instance, a bank robbery, an explosion, or maybe a shipwreck.
“Then again, it may be human interest stuff. A policeman holding up city traffic while a cat carries its kitten across a busy intersection. You see, a free lance photographer must have ideas, and be on the spot when important news is breaking.”
“Isn’t there a lot of luck to that—being on hand when it happens?”
“Yes, but not always,” admitted the editor. “Learn to use your head as well as your feet. Be ready when an opportunity comes along.”
“The one I’m looking for is a steady job on a newspaper.”
“We’re not likely to have an opening on the _Ledger_ for months to come. If a job does turn up, it probably will go to an experienced newspaper photographer.”
“But how can a fellow get experience when no one will give a beginner any chance?”
With a trace of impatience, the editor replied gruffly:
“You’ll have to create your own job. No one will hand it to you on a silver platter. Study news photographs and try to discover what makes them click. Learn how to take good pictures under every possible lighting condition. Then maybe someday you’ll stumble into one so big we couldn’t afford to turn it down.”
Riley reached for a sheet of copy paper, a signal that the interview had ended. But as the young man started away, a tired droop to his shoulders, he added:
“I didn’t intend to discourage you, Evans. You’re young, with plenty of time ahead. Not over eighteen, are you?”