EVERYTHING BUT THE FACTS
The city room, that had been buzzing and humming with the talk of
several reporters, seemed strangely quiet as Larry gave his answer.
His remarks had been heard by several. The clicking typewriters
stopped, and those operating them looked up.
"Say that again," spoke Mr. Emberg, as though a great deal depended
on it.
"Sullivan is going to support Reilly," repeated Larry. "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. "We have news from Albany
directly contrary to this, but if you're sure you are right I'll use
this. It will make a big sensation. Have you got it all alone?"
"There were no other reporters there that I knew," Larry said.
"Good for you. How in the world did you do it? I never thought you
would. Sit right down and make as much as you can of it. Describe
how he received you, what you said and what he said and all about
it. This is great."
"I stumbled on it," said Larry, and he proceeded to relate what he
had heard about Potter and the new line, though he did not in the
least know what the "new line" was.
"Better and better!" exclaimed Mr. Emberg. "This is what I
suspected. It has to do with the new subway line. If it runs through
the eighth district it will be the making of Sullivan. That's why
he's supporting Reilly, because he thinks Reilly can influence
Potter to run the new subway line in that direction. We must have an
interview with Potter. I'll send some one else out on that. You
write what you have. Here, Mr. Newton, jump out and see if you can
find Potter. It's going to be quite a job, but maybe you can land
him."
"Hamden Potter's in Europe," said a reporter who "did" Wall Street,
and who knew the movements of most of the financiers. "But he's
expected back soon."
"Maybe he's back by this time," Mr. Emberg went on. "Get out on the
job, Newton. Hurry, Larry, it's close to edition-time."
Larry sat down at his typewriter, which he had learned to operate
with considerable speed, and was soon banging away at the keys.
"Shall I put in that about Mr. Potter and the new line?" he called
to Mr. Emberg.
"No, I'll have Harvey attend to that part. You just tell of the
interview in regard to supporting Reilly. Make it a good story."
Larry did his best, and gave a graphic picture of the leader's
headquarters, without touching on how he had come to get the
information which so many other papers and reporters were anxiously
waiting for.
"Here, Tommy!" called the city editor to one of the copy boys, which
position Larry used to fill, "bring me Mr. Dexter's stuff, page by
page, as fast as he writes it. I'll get it upstairs and fix up a
head for it."
Larry smiled to hear Mr. Emberg call him "Mr. Dexter," but, no
matter how familiar an editor may become with his reporters, he
gives even the youngest the title of mister when speaking of him to
the copy boys.
Larry finished the first page of his story, pulled it from the
typewriter and handed it to Tommy, who rushed with it to Mr.
Emberg's desk. The editor glanced over it, made one or two
corrections, changed the wording a bit, and handed it back to Tommy,
who hurried with it to the pneumatic tube, in which it was shot
upstairs to the composing room.
There it was taken from the metal carrier that dropped from the
tube on the desk of the man in charge of distributing the various
pieces of copy to the compositors. This man put a mysterious-looking
blue mark on the first page of Larry's story. This was to identify
it later, and to make sure that all the succeeding pages would be
kept together.
Then the sheet was handed to the first of a long line of
compositors, who were standing in front of the desk of the
"copy-cutter," as he is called. It was close to the hour for the
first edition to go to press, and every one was in a hurry.
The compositor fairly ran to his type-setting machine and began to
operate the keys, which were arranged like those on a very large
typewriter. He did not strike them, as one does who operates a
typewriter, but gently touched them. As he pressed each finger down
the least bit there was a click, and from the rack above the machine
there tumbled down a small piece of brass, called a "matrix." This
contained on one edge a depression that corresponded to a letter.
In a short while enough matrixes had fallen into place to make a
complete line, just the width of one of the columns of the _Leader_.
The compositor looked at the row of matrixes as they were, arranged
before him, read it (no easy task to the uninitiated), took out a
wrong letter and inserted a right one, and then pressed down a
lever.
This lever operated the lead-casting machine at the back. A plunger
was shoved down into a pot of melted lead, kept molten by means of
a gas flame. A small quantity of lead was forced up against the line
of matrixes, which automatically moved in a position to receive it.
The lead was held there an instant to harden, then another lever
automatically removed the solid line of type from its place in front
of the matrixes, a long arm swooped down, took the brass pieces and
returned them to an endless screw arrangement which distributed
them, each one to its proper place, in the series of chutes that
held hundreds of others.
Everything was done automatically after the compositor had touched
the keys and then the lever, so that he was almost finished with the
second line of the story by the time the matrixes of the first were
being returned to their slots by the machine, which seemed almost
human.
Thus Larry's story was set up. In all, five men worked at putting it
into type, and finally the five sections were collected together on
a "galley" or long narrow brass pan. A proof was taken and rushed
down to Mr. 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. He hurried through it, and by the time he had
handed in the last sheet there were men upstairs waiting for it, so
quickly is the mechanical part of newspaper making accomplished.
Finally the story was all in type, the lead lines were in the form,
and, when the latter was filled it was "locked," or tightly
fastened, and was ready for the men who were to take an impression
of the page in damp papier-mache.
This papier-mache, which is also called a matrix, was baked hard by
steam, put in a curved cylinder, melted lead was poured on it and
there was a solid metal page of the paper ready for the great press,
which was soon thundering away, printing thousands of papers, each
one containing, on the front page, Larry's account of the interview
with Sullivan.
Of course many things had been going on meanwhile. Mr. Emberg had
written a "scare head," as they are called, that is a head to be
printed in big letters, and this had been set up by men working by
hand. This was put on the story after it was in the form.
"Guess Newton is having trouble finding Potter," commented the city
editor, when he had finished with Larry's copy. "If we don't hear
from him in five minutes we'll miss the edition."
The five minutes passed, and no word came from Harvey Newton. The
building shook as the giant press started, and Mr. Emberg, shutting
up his watch with a snap, remarked:
"Too late! Well, maybe he'll catch him for the second."
It is often the case that only part of a story gets in the first
edition of a paper. So many circumstances govern the getting of
news, and the sending of it into the office, that unless a story is
obtained, complete, early in the morning it is necessary to make
additions to it from edition to edition in the case of an afternoon
paper.
"Mack, maybe you'd better try to find Potter," went on Mr. Emberg
after a pause, turning to another reporter. "You know him. Tell him
we've got an interview with Sullivan, and ask him what the support
of Reilly means."
Mack, whose name in full was McConnigan, but who was never
designated as anything but "Mack," glanced at the proofs of Larry's
story.
"I guess I'll find him in Donnegan's place," he said, naming a
resort where men of wealth frequently gathered for lunch. "I'll try
there."
"Anywhere to find him," returned the city editor.
"Are you looking for Hamden Potter?" asked an old man, coming into
the city room at that juncture.
"That's what we are," said the city editor. "Why, do you know where
to find him, Mr. Hogan? Have you got a story for us to-day?"
Hogan was an old newspaper man, never showing any great talents, and
he had seen his best days. He was not to be relied on any more,
though he frequently took "tips" around to the different papers,
receiving for them, together with what money he could beg or borrow,
enough to live on.
"I've got a story, yes. I was down at the steamship dock of the Blue
Star line a while ago, and I see Mr. Potter's family come off a
vessel.
"Was he with them? Have you got the story?" demanded Mr. Emberg,
eagerly.
"I've got everything, I guess. I've got all but the main facts,
anyhow. I don't know whether Potter was with them or not. I didn't
think it was of any importance."
"Importance!" exclaimed the city editor. Then he bethought him of
Hogan's character, and knew it was useless to speak. "Everything but
the facts--the most important fact of all," Mr. Emberg murmured.
"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. Potter went. Hurry now!"
As Mack was going out the telephone rang. It was a message from Mr.
Newton to the effect that he could not find Mr. Potter, and that at
his office it was said he was still in Europe.
"Hurry to his house," said Mr. Emberg over the wire. "I have a tip
that his family just got in on the _Messina_ of the Blue Star line.
I've sent Mack to the dock! You go to the house!"
Thus, like a general directing his forces, did the city editor send
his men out after news.