Black Boy

by Richard Wright

“Where’s my story?” I asked. “It’s in galleys,” he said. “What’s that?” I asked; I did not know what galleys were. “It’s set up in type,” he said. “We’re publishing it.” “How much money will I get?” I asked, excited. “We can’t pay for manuscript,” he said. “But you sell your papers for money,” I said with logic. “Yes, but we’re young in business,” he explained. “But you’re asking me to give you my story, but you don’t give your papers away,” I said. He laughed. “Look, you’re just starting. This story will put your name before our readers. Now, that’s something,” he said. “But if the story is good enough to sell to your readers, then you ought to give me some of the money you get from it,” I insisted. He laughed again and I sensed that I was amusing him.