A C. Q. D. CALL.
Only a few days previous, Tom Paxton, managing editor of the New York
_Sentinel_, had received a letter from the Camera Chap. It ran as
follows:
“MY DEAR TOM: I am having a great time out here in the beautiful
Catskills. The peace and quiet of this picturesque mountain retreat
are just the things for my jaded nerves. I have not forgotten my
physician’s instructions to avoid all forms of excitement, nor your
kind advice to try to forget that there is such a thing in the
world as a camera. I like this calm, inactive life so much that if
you can possibly spare me, I should like to stay out here a few
weeks longer than I had contemplated. Hope this will be
satisfactory, as I should really hate to leave here just now.”
Now, Paxton knew the Camera Chap too well to be entirely deceived by
this ingeniously worded missive. He knew that peace, inactivity, and
picturesque scenery were not sufficiently alluring to Hawley to cause
him to wish to prolong his absence from Park Row. He had strong doubts,
too, whether it was within the bounds of possibility for Hawley to go
for so long a time without using a camera.
He read the letter over again, and chuckled. “He says that he has not
forgotten his physician’s instructions to avoid all forms of excitement,
or my advice to try to forget that there is such a thing in the world as
a camera,” he mused. “He says he has not forgotten that advice, but he
does not say that he has followed it.
“I wonder what mischief the young dare-devil is up to?” he went on.
“There must be something pretty good going on up there to make him ask
for a longer vacation. He wasn’t at all keen on going away.”
Then Paxton took his pen, and answered Hawley’s letter:
“MY DEAR FRANK: By all means, take as long as you like. Things are
pretty slow in town, and your presence here is not needed. But even
if we did need you, I should hesitate to take you away from the
‘peace and quiet of the picturesque Catskills,’ since you appear to
be deriving so much enjoyment and benefit from them.”
It happened that the letter was never mailed. Paxton had inclosed it in
an envelope, and was about to address it, when some important business
matter claimed his attention. The missive was thrust into a pigeonhole
of the managing editor’s desk, and it was not until several days later
that Paxton came across it, and reproached himself for his carelessness.
He was just putting a stamp on it, with the intention of sending it out
to the mail chute, when an office boy entered the private office, and
handed him a telegram:
NIND
“PAXTON, Managing Editor, New York _Sentinel_.
“Frank Hawley, _Sentinel_ staff photographer, arrested here to-day.
He is in a bad fix, and will surely go to jail for six months
unless you can save him. Send help at once.
RIGHT
OLDHAM DAILY BULLETIN.”
Paxton was a man of quick action. Without wasting any time trying to
read between the lines of this laconic message, he grabbed the receiver
from the telephone on his desk, and gave an order to the switchboard
operator.
“Get the Oldham _Bulletin_ on the long-distance wire immediately,” he
commanded, “and let me talk to the managing editor.”
Fred Carroll had been arrested and taken to police headquarters before
this telephonic connection was made, but one of the _Bulletin’s_ staff
spoke to Paxton over the wire, and gave him the details of the Camera
Chap’s predicament.
Then the managing editor of the _Sentinel_ did some more telephoning.
“Call up Powers & Hands’ law office, and ask Mr. Hands to be kind enough
to step over here and see me as soon as possible,” he said to the
switchboard operator. “Tell him to be prepared to take a little trip out
of town right away.”
Powers & Hands was the firm which attended to all the _Sentinel’s_ legal
business. They were one of the most prominent law firms in New York, and
saved the _Sentinel_ thousands of dollars annually by squelching
incipient libel suits brought against that newspaper, or successfully
fighting in the courts those which could not be squelched.
Mr. Horatio Hands, the younger of the partners, was not much to look at.
He was an insignificant little chap, with a red beard and a thin voice
that was almost falsetto. He was not much of a success at addressing a
jury--his partner, big Alexander Powers, attended to that part of the
work--but when it came to getting a client off on a legal technicality,
or winning a case by picking flaws in a law, there wasn’t another lawyer
in New York who was his equal. That was why Tom Paxton had chosen him to
go to the rescue of the Camera Chap, instead of calling for the services
of his more oratorical but less keen-witted partner.
Mr. Hands came over to the _Sentinel_ office right away. “Well, Mr.
Paxton?” he squeaked, as he entered the managing editor’s sanctum. “What
unfortunate citizen has the _Sentinel_ been traducing this time?”
“It isn’t a libel suit, Mr. Hands,” Paxton explained, with a smile.
“It’s one of the young men of our staff. He’s got into a little trouble
in Oldham--a small town in the vicinity of the Catskills. I have just
received word of his plight, and would appreciate it very much if you
would go out there right away and help him out of this scrape.”
The lawyer frowned. “Only a reporter in a scrape, eh? Couldn’t one of
our clerks attend to that just as well? Surely it isn’t necessary for me
to go out there personally.”
“Yes, it is,” Paxton declared. “I understand that he’s in a pretty bad
fix, and it’s require the best of legal talent to get him out. That is
why I have sent for you, Mr. Hands.”
The lawyer bowed in acknowledgment of this compliment, but his frown
deepened.
“Well, I’m very busy just now,” he said, “and I shall have to charge you
a good fee if it is necessary to give my own time to this case.”
“I don’t care what it costs!” Paxton rejoined vehemently. “When the
Camera Chap is in danger of going to jail, the _Sentinel_ doesn’t
consider the question of expense. You’ve got to get him out, Mr. Hands,
even if you have to take his case all the way up to the United States
supreme court.”