“By the way,” said Tomlin, “you will have to get down to work. You’ve been wasting a lot of your time when you should have been toiling for your bread and butter. I’ve got an order here for three specials, and you will have to turn them out before the end of the week.”
“I’m your man,” responded Herbert enthusiastically. Then looking at his friend fondly, he added:
“Say, Tomlin, how can I ever repay you for your goodness to me?”
“By never speaking about it,” was the crisp reply.
Herbert started in immediately and began working on the specials that had been ordered for the following week. He had to go out for several days and nights in succession in order to obtain the material, but once that was in hand he worked quickly and industriously. One of the articles was a graphic description of the entrance to the Brooklyn bridge at the rush hour in the evening. The subject was not new by any means; but Herbert handled it with such cleverness and originality that it made a very readable page in the Sunday issue of one of the enterprising newspapers. Another of the specials was a description of Chinatown at night, couched in such phraseology as to make the reader believe that the scenes so graphically described were taking place in the heart of one of the cities of old China instead of actually being enacted in the midst of the American metropolis. The third article gave the impressions of a man who went to the very top of one of the highest buildings on Manhattan Island and viewed the surrounding country.
The Argus office was only a few blocks from the lodgings of the two young men. While Herbert was hard at work one night, Tomlin rushed in unexpectedly, and said in agitated tones:
“I’ve got a sensational tip that I want you to run out for me. I am tied up on another story now, and there is no one in the office. It may be nothing, or it may be a good thing; but if you are willing to tackle it I will guarantee that you will not lose anything by the operation.”
“Don’t talk about losses,” said Herbert impatiently; “tell me what you want.”
“Well,” said the other; “I was around at the precinct police station a little while ago. The telephone bell rang while I was in the room. The house sergeant was sound asleep, snoring like a log, so I took the liberty of responding to the call. When I got my ear to the receiver a very feminine voice said:
“‘Is this the police station?’