“You’ll make the grade, son. You’ll make it,” he muttered. “Heard you’ve been havin’ bad luck, but it can’t keep breakin’ wrong forever.”
Flash slammed through the wooden gate into the newsroom. A reporter assigned to the fire story already had filled three long sheets of copy paper, and so news of the young photographer’s rescue work had traveled ahead of him.
The night editor actually beamed as Flash went past the slot.
“Guess you were the right man for the job,” he praised. “Rush your pictures through. Ralston and Forrest are on the job now, but they won’t get back for awhile.”
Flash nodded and hastened on to the photography department. The door of the darkroom was closed. He rattled the handle.
“Anyone inside?”
Fred Orris answered in a curt voice. A few minutes later, he opened the door, regarding Flash with a cold gaze.
“What’s the big rush?”
“I want to develop some pictures of the fire,” Flash responded briefly.
“What were you doing at the fire?” Orris demanded in surprise. “Special assignment?”