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Updated: June 22, 2025
Emberg so that he might see it was all right, but by this time, some typographical errors in the story having been corrected, men were placing it in the "form" or steel frame which holds enough type to make a page of the paper. This was soon in readiness for the stereotyping department. Larry had not finished the third page of his story before the first two were in type.
"I'm going to work him up for a story when I get through with this Potter case." "Don't do it until then," advised Mr. Emberg. "I want you to devote all your attention to the missing millionaire. The East Indian story will not amount to much or I'd put another man on it. You may get a yarn for the Saturday supplement out of it, but even that's doubtful."
He hurried to the elevated station and was soon on his way downtown to the office of the steamship line to which the Turtle belonged. "Guess I'd better stop and telephone to Mr. Emberg about Retto skipping out again," thought the young reporter. "He can add it to the story. Then I can tell him of my present plan."
"There's what he says," and he handed out the brief interview which he had written on some sheets of paper as he came down in the elevated train. The city editor glanced quickly over it. "Are you sure you haven't made a mistake?" he asked. "I'm positive that's exactly what he said." "This is a big thing," went on Mr. Emberg.
"No help for it, though. So here goes. I wish I'd done as Mr. Emberg said and let the Retto matter drop. But it seemed too good to lose sight of." He soon had the Leader office on the wire, and, a few seconds later, was talking to Mr. Emberg. He was rather surprised at what the city editor said. "What's the matter with you, Larry?" was the inquiry that came through the telephone.
He had little idea, as he left the Leader office that morning, that his assignment to get the story of the wreck was the beginning of a singular mystery. Larry cashed the order Mr. Emberg had given him, and hurried to the railroad station.
Emberg looked over the room, in which many reporters were at work, most of them typewriting stories as fast as their fingers could fly over the keys. Several of the news-gatherers who had heard the conversation between the two editors hoped they might be sent on that assignment, for though it meant hard work it was a chance to get out of the city for a while. "Are you up, Newton?" asked Mr.
If a storm comes up, and they have to rescue the passengers, it will make a corker. Don't be afraid of slinging your words if it turns out worth while. Here's an order on the cashier for some money. Hustle now," and Mr. Emberg scribbled down something on a slip of paper which he handed to the young reporter. "Leave the message in the telegraph room as you go out," went on the city editor. "Mr.
"Isn't that tip worth something?" demanded Hogan. "Oh, I suppose so," and Mr. Emberg wrote out an order on the cashier for two dollars. Poor Hogan shuffled from the room. He was but a type of many who have outlived their usefulness. "Jump down to the Blue Star dock, Mack," the city editor said, when Hogan had gone. "Find out all you can about the Potters where they have been and where Mr.
If he kept his information to himself no one would know but what the injured man was a stranger in New York, and that he was connected with the Potter case would be farthest from the thoughts of any reporters who were working on the missing millionaire story. "You must camp on his trail, Larry," Mr. Emberg went on.
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