In November it was published,
and on the day it came out I joined the staff of the _Evening
Sun_. I merely moved up one flight of stairs. Mulberry Street was
not done with me yet, nor I with it.
I had had a falling out with the manager of the Associated Press
Bureau,--the _Tribune_ had retired from the copartnership some
years before,--and during one brief summer ran an opposition shop
of my own. I sold police news to all the papers, and they fell away
from the Bureau with such hearty unanimity that the manager came
around and offered to farm out the department to me entirely if
I would join forces. But independence was ever sweet to me, and
in this instance it proved profitable even. I made at least three
times as much money as before, but I did it at such cost of energy
and effort that I soon found it could not last, even with the
phenomenal streak of good luck I had struck. It seemed as if I had
only to reach out to turn up news. I hear people saying once in a
while that there is no such thing as luck. They are wrong. There
is; I know it.
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