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Updated: June 20, 2025
It stopped and backed at purposeless intervals, waited for an express to precede it, and dallied at stations, and when, at last, it reached the terminus, Gallegher was out before it had stopped and was in the cab and off on his way to the home of the sporting editor. The sporting editor was at dinner and came out in the hall to see him, with his napkin in his hand.
The sporting editor reached his hand out to pat Gallegher on the head, but changed his mind and shook hands with him instead. "My boy," he said, "you are an infant phenomenon. If I can pull the rest of this thing off to-night it will mean the $5,000 reward and fame galore for you and the paper.
"This is better'n a private box, ain't it?" said Gallegher. The boy from the newspaper office and the detective lay there in silence, biting at straws and tossing anxiously on their comfortable bed. It seemed fully two hours before they came.
Gallegher had listened without breathing, and with every muscle on a strain, at least a dozen times, when some movement in the yard had led him to believe that they were at the door. And he had numerous doubts and fears.
To Gallegher the incandescent lights began to whirl about in circles, and to burn in different colors; the faces of the reporters kneeling before him and chafing his hands and feet grew dim and unfamiliar, and the roar and rumble of the great presses in the basement sounded far away, like the murmur of the sea.
You can get in by it, if you have some one to boost you up to the sill." "Sa-a-y," drawled Gallegher, as if something had but just that moment reminded him. "Who's that gent who come down the road just a bit ahead of me him with the cape-coat! Has he got anything to do with the fight?" "Him?" repeated Keppler in tones of sincere disgust. "No-oh, he ain't no sport. He's queer, Dad thinks.
Dwyer could brook, and he excitedly raised his hand in resistance. But before he had time to do anything foolish his wrist was gripped by one strong, little hand, and he was conscious that another was picking the pocket of his great-coat. He slapped his hands to his sides, and looking down, saw Gallegher standing close behind him and holding him by the wrist. Mr.
He surveyed the boy with a steady stare that would have distressed a less skilful liar, but Gallegher only shrugged his shoulders slightly, as if from the cold, and waited with apparent indifference to what the officer would say next. In reality his heart was beating heavily against his side, and he felt that if he was kept on a strain much longer he would give way and break down.
"Thank you, sir," sniffed Gallegher, tearfully, as the two officers raised their clubs, and let him pass out into the darkness.
When we newspaper men leave this place we'll leave it in a hurry, and the man who is nearest town is likely to get there first. You won't be a-following of no hearse when you make your return trip." Gallegher tied the horse to the very gate-post itself, leaving the gate open and allowing a clear road and a flying start for the prospective race to Newspaper Row.
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