CHAPTER IX
A CRY FOR HELP
Flash delivered the airplane crash pictures into the hands of City Editor Riley, whose only comment was that it had taken him long enough to make the trip. In fifteen minutes the prints were on the wirephoto cylinders, by means of which the photos were transmitted to other sections of the country. A short time later the Ledger made the street with a back page devoted to the exclusive shots.
Not even Joe Wells heard the story of how close the Ledger had come to being scooped by the Globe. Flash kept the affair strictly to himself, but he had learned a bitter lesson. While he knew there were few persons who would stoop to Luke Frowein’s low trickery, he never again would entirely trust a rival photographer.
In the days which followed, Flash performed his duties with quiet efficiency. He photographed fashion shows, golf tournaments, swimming meets, and no matter how routine the assignment, accepted it cheerfully. His unassuming ways gradually won him friends, both in and out of the office. However, Fred Orris remained cold and aloof.
Now and then, if Flash worked late at night, Herm would drop into the photography department for a friendly chat as he made his rounds. Flash enjoyed talking with the old fellow, but never succeeded in drawing him out about himself. One day he questioned Joe Wells regarding the watchman’s past life.
“Oh, he’s just a queer duck,” the photographer replied carelessly. “His real name is Herman Ronne. He’s been watchman at the Ledger for eight or ten years.”
“Married?”
“They say his wife died about fifteen years ago. He had a son, quite a promising young fellow, they tell me. Old Herm saved and scraped to put him through college.”
“Then I suppose the boy repaid him by going his own way?”
“No, the boy was grateful enough, but he up and died. Old Herm never did get over the shock. He’s been a bit screwy ever since—goes around talking to himself.”