Clear and without interruption the stream of dictation poured over the wire. The story was written as a newspaper story should be written, and when it was told it ended.
“That’s all,” sighed Johnson proudly. “I’ll hold him here till two o’clock to make the beat an absolute cinch. Then I’ll ’phone the police.”
In the newspaper office the rewrite man had hardly drummed out the last line of copy before the sheet of paper was snatched from his typewriter and rushed in the wake of former scudding sheets to the composing room, just in time for the first edition.
“There never was a beat like it,” cried the exultant city editor. “I don’t see how he landed it.”
“It’s a great piece of newspaper work,” agreed the managing editor. “No man in the country could have done better. Who is Johnson?”
“A new man, but I’ve taught him the game already. He didn’t wait for any assignment—just went right out and dug that cashier up.” The city editor’s voice cracked with enthusiasm. “That’s the kind of newspaper men we turn out in little old New York.”
THE GAY DECEIVER
By Howard P. Stephenson
The only other passenger thumbed his tobacco into a melancholy pipe-bowl.
“What’s your line?” he asked.