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One of them, an overalled farm hand from his looks, said, "He killed a kid just a little while ago. My brother-in-law heard it." "Murderer," the other said viciously. The farmer turned his head and his glance fell on Hall. "Well, a new face in town," he said after a moment's inspection. "Say I bet you're a reporter from one of the papers, aren't you?"
"That which seemed corporeal has melted 'as a breath into the wind." The reporter shovelled the debris into the box, pushed it under a desk, and the two men hurried to close the office. As they stood on the threshold a moment, while the reporter clicked the key in the lock, a paper rustled and they heard a mouse scamper across the floor inside the empty room. "Let's go home," shivered Larmy.
Have you ever thought it strange that I have money for my needs although I do nothing? I may have stolen a great sum of money or been involved in a murder before I came here. There is food for thought in that, eh? If you were a really smart newspaper reporter you would look me up. In Chicago there was a Doctor Cronin who was murdered. Have you heard of that?
The disaster to his plans thus threatened steadied the reporter, and he managed to keep his face impassive. "Thanks," he said. "I'll let you know if he's able to travel. Is this is this business you're on confidential?" "Well, it is and it isn't. I've talked some to you, and as you're leaving anyhow it's the Jud Clark case again." "Sort of hysteria, I suppose.
It was said in a half complaining tone, but underneath it was the foundation of tender pride, that showed her to be the vain mother of the handsome tyrant. Still it seemed to be Flossy's duty to condole with her. "You miss most of the meetings, do you not?" "Three-fourths of them. You see it is inconvenient to have a husband who is reporter for the press, and who must be there to hear.
Patteson, of the Mail, have also received positions recently in the public service. Mr. Edward McDonald, who founded, with Mr. Garvie, the Halifax Citizen, in opposition to the Reporter, of which the present writer was editor, died Collector of the Port. Mr. Bowell, of the Belleville Intelligencer, is now Minister of Customs.
He then acted as parliamentary reporter, first for The True Sun, and from 1835 for the Morning Chronicle. Meanwhile he had been contributing to the Monthly Magazine and the Evening Chronicle the papers which, in 1836, appeared in a coll. form as Sketches by Boz; and he had also produced one or two comic burlettas. In the same year he m.
"Stop that, Phin!" shouted his father, without letting go of Dick's collar, however. Phin, however, instead of obeying, aimed another blow, and would have landed, had not another figure bounded in and taken the blow, next hurling Phin back against a brick wall. It was Len Spencer, "star" reporter of "The Blade," who had thus interfered.
The face that looked up was shrewd but kindly, albeit it frowned a little at the interruption. "I am Senator August," was the unexpected reply. "Oh!" exclaimed Tom blankly. Then he pushed aside a small valise on the opposite seat and took its place. The frown on the senator's face grew. "Reporter?" he asked laconically. "Yes," answered Tom. "I'm from the Washington World.
She had often gone forth upon semi-perilous enterprises as a reporter, entered sinister houses where crimes had been committed, but always calculating how much copy at eight dollars a column could be squeezed out of the affair. But this promised to be something like those tales which were always clear and wonderful in her head but more or less opaque when she attempted to transfer them to paper.
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