“I think we might have a leader on it—in any case, a short one,” said Hartley, Editor of the Trumpet, that powerful organ of democracy, to the night editor. “Tell Bisham to come along.”
Like a lizard, Bisham darted in, an unlit stump of a cigar between his thin, intelligent lips.
“Well, Bish, the Big Push is on at last. All fronts. Just through on the wire. Waiting for censor’s permish. No details. Let’s have a couple of sticks, in case. The news about Salonika; the wire itself—it comes from Zurich—will go in under any circs. And, you, Beale,” he added, turning to the night news editor, “wire Amsterdam, and do the necessary with Paris. Now, trot along both of you. I’m busy.”
KATYA’S WOOING
To
Jack Kahane
IT was in May, 1912, that Katya Kontorompa met cosmopolitan Guy Fallon, and decided to make him fall in love with her. She was staying at the Olympos Hotel, in Salonika, with her mother, and Fallon had a suite of rooms on the ground floor. He was tall, dark, and vivid; moreover, he was young; best of all, he was fabulously wealthy.
“A week next Thursday,” said Katya one afternoon to her mother, as they sat on the shaded balcony on the first floor, “Guy Fallon will propose to me. It will take place in the evening in one of those boats.”