Young Man of Manhattan by Katharine Brush is a 325-page hardcover published by International Readers League, 1929. No dust jacket. The book has some mild wear to the spine. The pages are clean and unmarked. The condition is good.
You have seen him, perhaps, where the bands are playing and the penants flying and the people cheering. He is always there; diligent there. At a football game, while you leap up to howl and wave your arms, he sits quite still in the press box high behind you, squinting through smoke, saying quietly out of the side of his mouth to his telegrapher, "Adams made five yards off tackle. First down. Yale's ball." When you snake-dance off to the campus when the game is finally ended, he removed the cover from his portable typewriter, twists long telegraph paper in, writes, "By So-and-So--New Haven, Conn., November 24."--and then writes. When you go home from the boxing match, or the hockey game, or the boat race, you leave him there, in the dawn of his business day. But because he works while you play, pity him not; he plays while you work--and you work longer and harder, in dustier places.
Perhaps you think of a sports writer as an old man who knew Cap Anson and remembers when prize fights were won in the sixty-third round. You are mistaken. He is usually young. Twenty-five. Thirty-two. Usually, though not always, he has a pretty young wife who has been taught not to sit up for him; sometimes he has a baby who chews pencils. He is, as a type, rather well dressed; clean-shaven; ex-collegiate in appearance. He carries speakeasy cards, autographed, in all of his pockets.
He falls in love with ease, smokes endless cigarettes to their stubs, and never, even on payday, has any money. He rides in taxis. He talks a picturesque lingo, with much original slang, and is always going to try his hand at fiction day after tomorrow. Or the day after that. Or next week, when the six-day bicycle race at the Garden is over. Or the next month, after the Series is off his mind...
He is, in short, Toby McLean, of the New York Star. This is Toby's own story. It is also the story of little Ann Vaughn, who did the movies for the Chronicle-Press. It begins properly on the night they met; the night Tunney first beat Dempsey.