“For the morning edition?” gasped Dunlap.
“Yes, to accompany the story of the fire.”
“My dear young lady—do you know how long it takes to make a plate for the paper?”
“A plate? I said ‘a photograph,’ Mr. Dunlap.”
“But we have to make a reproduction of yours, then print it on a plate, then give it an acid bath, then etch and rout, and mount—and it all takes time before the plate is ready to be stereotyped for the printing in the paper.”
“Oh! I thought you just took the picture and copied it in the paper. Of course, I never stopped to inquire into what process it went through. But if you say you can’t use it, I’m sorry.”
“So’m I. But you might bring it in early in the morning and I’ll see if there is enough interest in the story to rake up an evening’s yarn.”
“Very well. I’ll do that.”
“Come in, anyway, and bring your friends. I’ll show you through the engraving plant of the paper. You’ll be interested.”
“Thank you—good-by.”