Another pause followed.
“I assume,” continued the editor, “that you recognize that these facts make a good newspaper story, particularly when they are known to one paper alone.”
The first response to this came from Bob Russell, the reporter. But it was not spoken. Recrossing his legs, he thrust his hands deep in his coat pockets and gazed determinedly toward the ceiling.
“And I assume,” spoke out Alan Hope at last, “that you did not call us here to tell us that.”
“Incidentally,” said the editor at once. “I may add that, despite the excellence of this story as a piece of news, the Herald is not going to print it. Here,” he added picking up the bundle of proofs from his desk, “are the proofs of nearly three columns of matter telling this story. It is in type and ready for the press. The last edition of the Herald is now on the street without a word of it.”
The surprise caused by this statement seemed almost as great as that caused by the editor’s first speech. Still the cautious boys gave no outward signs of deep concern.
“Perhaps I ought to return your frankness,” said Ned at last after it had become doubtful who would speak next. “When we entered your office I suspected just what you have told us. The young man who left it as we came in, I recognized. He is a skillful reporter. We thought we owned our new car and its ideas. At least we paid considerable money to develop them. We also had reasons of our own why the matter was not to be made public. The Herald has been clever enough to get our story. I suppose we are helpless.”
The managing editor waved his hand as if this sort of irony was an old story to him.
“You don’t want the story printed?” he said laconically.
“We do not,” replied Ned in the same tone.