“Did we catch it?” asked the cable editor of the boy standing at the composing-room tube.
“We did,” he said triumphantly.
“One big pull for the last [edition], men,” said the city editor. “We are going in at 3:20. Let’s beat the town with a complete paper.”
The enthusiasm was catching fire. Throughout the office it was a bedlam of noise—clicking typewriters, clicking telegraph instruments, and telephone bells ringing added to the whistle of the tubes that lead from the city room to the composing room, the pressroom, the stereotype room and the business office, the latter, happily, not in use, but throughout the office men worked; nobody shouted, no one lost his head; men were flushed, but the cool, calm, deliberate way in which the managing editor smoked his cigar helped much to relieve the tension.
“Three-fifteen, men,” said the city editor, admonishingly; “every line must be up by 3:20. Five minutes more.”
The city editor walked rapidly from desk to desk.
“All up,” said the night city editor, “and three minutes to the good.”
At the big table stood the city editor, cable editor, night city editor, and managing editor. They were looking over the completed headline that should tell the story to the world.
“That will hold ’em, I guess,” said the city editor, and the head went upstairs.
The men waited about and talked and smoked. Bulletins came in, but with no important details. Going to press at 3:20 meant a wide circulation. At 4:30 the Associated Press sent “Good-night,” but at that hour the presses had been running uninterruptedly for almost an hour.