(Note the informality of the introduction. The story aims to amuse the reader—nothing more. It is a rule of most newspapers that no story shall end with indented matter: hence the last paragraph. The headlines are in keeping with the spirit of the story: “What Happened to Jones? Well, Here’s the Yarn—Being the Comedy of Alec From Cape Girardeau and His Various Valises.”)
II. A feature story in subject matter and treatment. From the Kansas City Star:
“Eyes made while you wait” is not the sign on the door, but it might be, for that is the way they do it. Artificial eyes are being made to order in Independence, and it takes only about a half-hour to send a customer out with a “made eye” that scarcely can be distinguished from his natural one.
The laboratory is in a little room on the third floor of the Metropolitan Hotel.
The work is being done in Independence because manufactured gas is available for fuel there. Natural gas is not rich enough, and will not stand the heavy pressure that is necessary in making artificial eyes. From a connection with the city gas pipes, Mr. Kohler passes the gas through a little blowpipe equipped with an apparatus for producing extreme heat.
“Thousands of artificial eyes are kept in stock,” said Mr. Merry, “but there is an advantage in making the eye to order. The slightest peculiarity in size, shape or color in the natural eye can be reproduced exactly in the artificial one.”
The foundation of the process of manufacture is a glass tube about three-fourths of an inch in diameter. The tubes vary slightly in color and in quality. Under the blowpipe a small portion of a tube is melted off and shaped into an eye. The color is put in by very delicate processes, and even any abnormal peculiarity of the natural eye is reproduced.
A young man was “sitting for an eye” this morning when a visitor called. Kohler, glancing alternately from the natural eye of the customer to the blowpipe and back again, quickly modeled an eye to fill that particular need.
“In many cases they have more than one eye made while they are at it,” said Mr. Merry. “Unless handled very carefully, the eyes are easily broken, either by falling or from sudden changes of temperature. Some persons are so careless with their glass eyes—they roll them around as though they were marbles. We had one customer in Kansas City who had twenty-four eyes made a year ago, and who already has broken five of them. But that is not the fault of the maker of the eyes.”
(Enough of the story is given here to indicate the method. Tell one thing that has been omitted. Note the absence of technical terms. The writer tells the things about the making of glass eyes that interested him and hence are most likely to interest the general reader. A technical description of the process would fall flat as a newspaper story. The lead—“eyes made while you wait”—piques the reader’s curiosity.)
III. A human-interest story told simply and in good taste. From the New York World:
Flowers, the smiles of his fiancée and the commendation of his superiors went with Patrolman George A. Pattison when he limped out of New York Hospital last night on crutches and with one leg gone.
Just two weeks ago Pattison lay on the sidewalk at Forty-second street and Fifth avenue, one leg badly crushed by a surface car, and smiled up at Deputy Commissioner Driscoll when that man patted his shoulder and said, “Too bad!”
“It’s all right, Commissioner,” said Pattison. “We must expect such things in our business.”
When they heard he was to leave the hospital yesterday his comrades in the West Thirtieth Station determined he should see there were other things in “our business” and that “our business” wasn’t entirely the suppression of emotion.
So last night the men of the Tenderloin Station made up a purse. Some of it was set aside to pay for a taxicab for the long trip from the hospital to the policeman’s home in New Brighton, Staten Island, and the rest went to Broadway florists. Inspector George McClusky and Captain Samuel McElroy rode in the flower-filled cab to the hospital. There they were met by Miss Mary Lynch, who will be married to the policeman as soon as he is fully recovered.
She led them to Pattison and they told him everybody in the department knew he was a man and that Miss Lynch would never regret her marriage to him. And he needn’t worry about his future, for his pay would be the same, though he would be a clerk at Headquarters when he was able to go to work again.
There were tears in Pattison’s eyes as he tried to thank everybody for the good feeling displayed. Then he was helped down the stairs. When he found the taxicab was almost filled with flowers he didn’t trust himself to speak, but wrung the hands of his friends.
Then, with his fiancée among the flowers, he started for his mother’s home, while inspector and captain waved their caps.
IV. Write a feature story of not more than 1,000 words, on any topic that you believe people would like to read about. The following are given as suggestive of the possibilities of a small town: The oldest house in town; how the streets were named; an interview with the railroad station agent on the people he meets; if a college town, a story of the students who earn their own expenses; organized charities—get the human side; hunters’ licenses—number—revenue from—women hunters, if any—possibly talks with some of the hunters; birth rate for a given period compared with the death rate; marriage licenses—minors who have been married—the favorite month for weddings; collections of antiquities; recent improvements, such as street paving; condition of the city jail; the oldest man; the oldest woman; persons in town above the age of 90; women’s clubs; the public schools—how the attendance compares with that of previous years—talks with the superintendent and teachers on their work and plans; former citizens who have become famous; the moving picture shows—how many attend daily—talks with the show managers about the growth of the moving picture business; any unusual industry, such as the making of corn-cob pipes; number of automobiles in town—condition of the country roads—farmers who own automobiles; the public library—what books are most read—effect of the seasons on the number and character of the books read; the post office—amount of stamp sales—odd addresses on letters—hardships of rural route carriers. The list might be extended indefinitely.
CHAPTER IX
THE INTERVIEW
They (teaching and accompanying reading) can suggest the proper relation between subject and style—the man whose style is too big or too small for his subject is the born prey of the parodist; they can call attention to the balance proper to be observed between narrative and dialogue, and show by reference to the masters (to Sterne and Congreve, for example), how vividness and dramatic suspense may be imparted to dialogue without loss of naturalness; they may incite the hearer to learn from Steele that writing may be very simple yet very distinguished, from Stevenson that subtlety is one thing and obscurity quite another. The professor can, and should, preach with parrot-like persistency, “Lucidity—lucidity—lucidity!”—Said by Anthony Hope on the writing of novels, but applicable also to the news story; from the University Magazine, Toronto.