In a moment the boy returned.
“O.K. on both,” he said.
The city editor, who had just put on his coat previous to going away for the night, took it off. The night city editor, at the head of the copy-desk, where all the local copy (as a reporter’s story is called) is read, and the telegraph editor stood together, joined later by the night editor, for the mail edition had left the composing room for the stereotypers and then to the pressroom and from thence to be scattered wherever on the globe newspapers find readers.
The “Titanic” staff was immediately organized, for at that hour most of the staff were still at work. The city editor took the helm.
“Get the papers for April 11—all of them,” he said to the head office boy, “and then send word to the art department to quit everything to make three cuts, which I shall send right down.”
Then to the night city editor: “Get up a story of the vessel itself; some of the stuff they sent us the other day that we did not use, and I ordered it put in the envelope. Play up the mishap at the start. Get up a passenger list story and an obituary of Smith, her commander.”
There was no mention of Smith in the dispatch, but city editors retain such things in their heads for immediate use, and this probably explains in a measure why they hold down their job; also having, it might be added, executive judgment, which is sometimes right.
“Assign somebody to the White Star Line and see what they’ve got.”
The night city editor went back to the circular table where the seven or eight men who read reporters’ copy were gathered.
“Get up as much as you can of the passenger list of the ‘Titanic.’ She is sinking off Newfoundland,” he said briefly to one.