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Updated: June 14, 2025
You heard enough to figure the general locality of the island when Lund blurted it out. You knew too much. Suppose the Karluk fought up to Kotzebue Bay and found a dozen power-vessels hanging about, waiting for us to lead them to the beach? And we'd have worried all the way up, with you loose. You're a newspaperman.
A very puzzled newspaperman joined them, bending and whispering to Helen Cumberly: "Are you going to notice the thing seriously? Personally, I am writing it up as a practical joke! We are giving him half a column Lord knows what for! but I can't see how to handle it except as funny stuff."
Metcalf stayed at the Circle L throughout the day, and in the evening Lawler rode with him to Willets, where he saw him aboard the west-bound train. "I'm telling you something, Lawler," grinned the newspaperman as he gripped Lawler's hand just before the train started. "McGregor came to me yesterday. He told me he intended to come to see you, but he was afraid you'd refuse to run.
I don't know how long he would have continued in this insulting vein, but he was interrupted by the concealed telephone. "What in the name of the ten thousand dubious virgins do you mean by annoying me?" he bellowed into the mouthpiece. "Yes. Yes. I know all about deadlines; I was a newspaperman when you were vainly suckling canine dugs. Are you ambitious to replace me?
He died, not in some burst of audacity such as may occasionally actuate men to astonishing feats, but doggedly and calmly in the line of duty. More than a mere hero, he was a good newspaperman. There were tears under my eyelids as the editor concluded his eulogy. Under that gruff and even overbearing exterior must beat a warm and tender heart.
The accredited father of the typewriter was a Wisconsin newspaperman, Christopher Latham Sholes, editor, politician, and anti-slavery agitator. A strike of his printers led him to unsuccessful attempts to invent a typesetting machine.
The newspaperman, who did not understand German, asked me what abominable stuff they were singing, but he seemed dissatisfied with my translation of the simple words and darkly intimated that they were "deep ones," and had probably "fooled" me.
"Of course your name is not Smith, nor do you come from Reno," said the man in gray abruptly. "I've seen you somewhere before, but I can't place you. Are you a newspaperman?" "I've been thinking the same of you," returned Bob. "No, I'm just plain tourist." "I don't imagine you're particularly interested in Lucky," said the gray man. "Why did you come?"
A vague common tradition is in the air about us it expresses itself in journalism, in cheap novels, in the uncritical theater. Every merchant has his stock of assumptions about the mental habits of his customers and competitors; the prostitute hers; the newspaperman his; P. T. Barnum had a few; the vaudeville stage has a number.
Boncour maintained a stolid silence that covered a seething internal fury when the newspaperman in question hinted that the landlord and tenant were on exceptionally good terms. It was after a fruitless day of such search that we were sitting in the reading-room of the Fairfield Hotel. Leland entered. His face was positively white.
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