“And that’s what we are trying to find out?” asked Winton, showing confusion.
“Certainly,” was the response. “The mere account of a new aeroplane isn’t worth two columns in the Herald. That’s only half the story. Its purpose and possibility make the real story.”
Winton leaned over the desk, his face flushed.
“I know what those boys have done in the past,” he said in a low voice. “There’s only one thing left for them to do now. If you can’t find them and don’t know what that is I’ll make a guess for you: they’re going to cross the Atlantic.”
“Certainly,” was Mr. Latimer’s response. “My own idea precisely. And that is the story the Herald is going to print in the morning.”
But the night city editor was wrong. The Herald did not print such a story in the morning, as will be set forth in the next chapter.
CHAPTER II
WHAT A REPORTER SAW IN THE DARK
Stewart, the reporter who had been working in the American Aeroplane Company’s plant for several days and who had telephoned the tip on the first flight of the wonderful new machine, reached the Herald office a few minutes ahead of his schedule. He was hot and excited. As he hurried to Mr. Latimer’s desk he drew from his pocket a wad of copy—a part of his story already prepared. The night city editor looked at the clock—he seemed always watching the clock.
“Twelve ten,” Mr. Latimer began without question or comment and waving back the proffered manuscript. “We want a column. Take an hour and do it right. Tell what you saw—don’t speculate. Tell about the new machine, and don’t be technical. We’ll make the ‘lead’ when we see what you’ve got—”