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Updated: August 16, 2024
This languid young gentleman seemed wholly indifferent to the reporter's restlessness, and Dan's professional pride rebelled. "Pardon me, but I must see Mr. Thatcher. Where is he, please?" "He's gone, skipped! No manner of use in looking for him. On my honor, he's not in town." "Then why didn't you say so and be done with it?" demanded Dan angrily.
The sun, already mounting high, foretold a day of depressing heat. The steel lines of the railway stretched interminably eastward toward the first stop forty miles away. Bob Russell, pale but defiant, stood in the middle of the track, his heavy suit case in his hand. Suddenly there was the crack of a revolver and the dust flew about the young reporter's feet.
Harvard, and birth in a social stratum where emphasis is superfluous, enabled him to smile at the reporter's exuberance; and he was the more drawn toward her to see on Janet's flushed face the hint of a smile as she looked up at him when she had finished.
The lad who fixed the sprig of holly on the stairs knew it; my reporter's note-book bore witness to it. Witness of my contrition for the wrong I did the gentle spirit of the holiday, here let the book tell the story of one Christmas in the tenements of the poor: It is evening in Grand Street. The shops east and west are pouring forth their swarms of workers.
Emberg learned back in his chair and looked sharply at Larry. "Suppose I can't," and the young reporter smiled. "'Can't' isn't in the reporter's dictionary," the city editor replied. "You've got to find him. I don't want to see you fall down. You've done well, so far, Larry. Now's a chance to distinguish yourself." Larry knew that it was.
He was about to think that it had not been thought worth while printing when he noticed on the front page, in large letters, "The Boy Reporter's Great Discovery," and then followed the complete account, just as he had written it. This was the best thing yet. Just to think that his story had been considered important enough to print upon the front page! He could hardly believe it.
Standing in the center of a crowd of excited villagers was Billy Barnes, his helmet knocked off and an arrow sticking through it. He looked scared to death as well he might, for by his side was a stalwart young African, brandishing a heavy-bladed spear above his head. At the young reporter's feet lay the ill-fated camera that had caused all the trouble. What had happened was this.
Travis and Condy edged their way among piles of wheat-bags, dodging drays and rumbling trucks, and finally brought up at the after gangplank, where a sailor halted them. Condy exhibited his reporter's badge. "I represent 'The Times," he said, with profound solemnity, "and I want to see the officer in charge." The sailor fell back upon the instant.
Lincoln is one of nature's orators," said the "Tribune," "using his rare powers solely to elucidate and convince, though their inevitable effect is to delight and electrify as well. We present herewith a very full and accurate report of this speech; yet the tones, the gestures, the kindling eye, and the mirth-provoking look defy the reporter's skill.
Since that time I have regarded hands with no little interest, and have looked for the old man of the emigrant car in vain." "An interesting recital," said the detective, when Harry Bernard came to a pause. "Knowing all this, you kept it from me at St. Louis." "My reason for that was, that I did not care to arouse any foolish theories. Of course, the reporter's story might have been false.
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