The telegraph operator does not look up, and the gentleman tacks with difficulty and steers against the railroad editor.
“Whatsher doin’?” he says.
“Railroads,” says that gentleman shortly.
“Zat’s ze sing. Gotter bigesht railroad item ever saw. Give you two columns cause tremendoush ’citement railroad shircles.”
The railroad editor writes calmly on, and the visitor gives him a reproachful look and bears down upon the city editor.
“Shay, friend,” he says, “gozzer bigges scoop ’n city news world ever heard. No ozzer paper ’n town knows it.”
“What is it?” says the city editor, without turning his head.
“Appalin’ sensation ’n Firs’ Ward. Shend four, five reporters my house at onesh. I’m goin’ back now. Had twins my housh when lef’ home. Goin’ back to shee ’f any more ’rived. Come back ’n let you know if find any. Sho long, gen’lemen. Keep two columns on front page open ’till get back.”
Later on three or four young gentlemen drop in. They speak low, and are courteous and conciliatory. They are well-dressed, carry canes and seem to have been out enjoying themselves. One or two of them have torn coats and disarranged ties. One has a handkerchief bound over his eye. They confer deferentially with the city editor, and certain words and phrases, half-caught, tell the tale of their mission: “Unfortunate affair—police—best families—publicity—not seriously hurt—upper circles too much wine—keep out names—heated argument—very sorry—friends again.”
Comes the hot lunch man with his basket filled with weirnerwurst and mustard, ham sandwiches, boiled eggs, cold chicken. The staff is too busy, and he lugs his basket upstairs where the printers are at work.