“Well, one day he seemed more out of sorts. He looked as if he had a notion to kick me. Then he groaned and said ‘report to Mr. Latimer to-night and keep out of my sight.’ I haven’t seen him but two or three times since.”
The editor seemed to chuckle but Buck could not be sure. Then the manager returned to the Airship Boys after a few moments of silence.
“What do you know about these young men, the Airship Boys?”
“Only what I’ve read,” was Buck’s answer. “They’ve been in the papers for several years. They are from Chicago.” Then he recalled Winton’s assignment—the sketch this reporter had made of the young aviators to be used in the now abandoned story. “There’s a story of them in proof by this time, I think,” he added. “Mr. Winton wrote it to use in the morning.”
“Get it for me, if you will,” said the editor. “And the proof of any other matter on this story that has been set.”
In a few minutes Buck was back with a handful of Mr. Latimer’s proofs. As he passed through the big local room he noted that it was two thirty-five o’clock. The managing editor was lighting a fresh cigar when he returned and was again on his feet intently examining the big wall map, the principal part of which seemed to be the Atlantic Ocean.
“Ever been abroad, Mr.—Mr.—?” was the editor’s rather irrelevant greeting to Buck as he reentered the room.
“Yes, sir, to England,” was the reporter’s response. Buck did not bother about reminding the great journalist that his name was Stewart. His questioner, whose head was twisted sideways as if he were trying to make out the printed words or figures on the scores of steamer routes, looked up in surprise. “My grandfather lives in London. I’ve been there twice with my mother. When I was fifteen I rode a wheel from Liverpool to London. We spent a summer there.”
The managing editor looked Buck over as if making an inventory of him.
“Is your story in proof?” he asked at last as he returned to his desk and picked up some of the proofs.