“Great Scott!” I cried. “I must get this to the paper instantly. Where’s the telephone?”
Without a word, Tom pointed to the desk ’phone on his own desk, and I rushed over to it. Again and again I rang, with no response. “I can’t get Central,” I said.
Tom looked at the clock. “It’s a branch exchange, but there’s usually some one on our exchange board by now. I’ll try.”
Five more precious minutes were lost in his attempt to gain the board. At last he looked up. “No use, Jim.”
I waited for no more, but grabbed my hat and ran down the long flights. Out across the square I sped and down the street. A blue bell showed on the corner in a small store. I ran to it—locked. Another block, and I had the same experience. At the third, a corner drug store, I met success. A yawning boy, sweeping out the store, gazed with open mouth as, hot and perspiring from my run, I hurried in and rushed to the booth. In a moment I had the office and the night editor’s desk, had told him who I was, and began to dictate. “At one minute past four by our time (see what time Paris time is for that, and put it in) a French battleship was sunk by the man who is to stop all war. Probably no one on board escaped.” That last was a guess based on the experience of the past. The night editor’s voice came back.
“Feel sure of this, Orrington?”
“Very sure,” I said.
“I hate to run a thing like this on a chance.”
“The chief said to run anything I sent, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” said the night editor.