The noisy opening of the door between the managing editor’s room and the office of the city editor roused him. He heard the managing editor’s voice.
“Got any line on that bank cashier?”
“Not yet, sir,” replied the city editor, “but every live man on the staff is out on the story.”
Johnson flushed as if he had been insulted publicly. How would the old guard in Chicago or Cincinnati retort to such an insinuation against a man who had campaigned up and down the country and had learned the newspaper game as a soldier learns war—in action? He recalled winning out in California, notwithstanding “Native Sons.” But to win against the esoteric self-sufficiency of New Yorkers demanded higher fortitude.
“Where can I find the owner of this newspaper?”
Johnson came out of his dream abruptly to answer the insignificant little man who had rambled into the local room.
“He isn’t in the building just now,” said he patiently.
Owners of newspapers do not receive callers casually. When cranks get through the outer doors now and again it is the duty of some employee to act as buffer.
The visitor lifted a trembling hand to his forehead, shook his head uncertainly, and began to mumble a meandering, inconsequent tale. Amid the aimless words one sentence unexpectedly shaped itself that set the reporter’s nerves atingle.
Johnson glanced fearfully toward the city editor’s office.