The Somerset herald. [volume] (Somerset, Pa.) 1870-1936, 1875-09-01
THORNE's LAST WORK on THE
TIMES.
AS TOLD BY THE NIGHT EDITOR.

AS TOLD BY THE NIGHT EDITOR.
Do / remember Thorne? Then |
never told you of his last night on
the Times. While | wait for Dunno
to write up the fire in - square
for the second edition, you shall hear
it. Then you can guess whether l
am likely to forget old Thorne.
| was a beginner on tie Times
then, and being blessed with sound
constitution, and nimble on foot, very
properly was put on duty as night
police reporter. Journalism, you
know, in those days, though it's not
long ago, either, wasn't what it is
now. There was but one night police
reporter on the Times then, and be
was expected, in all sorts of weather,
to take in the fires, fights, burglaries,
and murders, with little regard to the
leg work required, and less regard 20
the English in which his reports
were written up All copy for the
night had been handed in. The tele-
graph editor had received $50" on
bis dispatches. The city editor and
reporters were gone. The scissoring,
ink-slinging, and pencil-scraping to
fill the columns of ofanother DAYS issue
bad ended, and the rash and worry
were over. Only the night editor,
as usual, was hurrying to get 20
press, and the foreman was swearing
with the original vigor appropriate to
the last half hours work on morn
ling paper.
Thorne had finished bis work two
hours before, and there was nothing
for him to do. 1t was between and
3 in the morning, but he was at bis
desk as usual, which, as usual, was
covered with stray exchanges and
scraps of unfinished manuscript, such
as he seemed forever beginning, re-
vising, and tossing into the waste
basket. He was rewriting one at the
! time.
Let me tell you, Thorne," said |
, that I've struck a frst-class sensa.
ton to-night-regular bloody horror
CLOSING scene in a tragedy of sin
!, aud shame, and all that sort of stuff
: you know, for the head lines, with
heavy moraliziDg and ghastly de,
!, scriptives flung in at random. Moth
ing known of it, either, till near 2
O'Clock this morning, when there
! wasn't time to look it up. But |
scooped the Neus and the Dispatch
men on it. They had gone for their
coffee, and the Times will have it ex-
clusively It's horrible affair. Beau.
tiful woman in - street, found in
her chamber with dirk sticking in
her heart. ALPS shrouded in myste-
ry-no clue to the assassin. Was
told at the station that she was a
wealthy widow, divorce, a run
away countess with romantic histo-
ry, and the mistress of a down town
millionaire, who is also a pillar in
DR.. Is church l slung it all to-
gether with lurid adjectives, and mys-
terious references to facts suppressed
by the police, and, I've made the SEN
sation of the morning out of it. You
are to work it up for tomorrow,
Thorne. 1t will try you in the line
Of terrible descriptives and on the
text something about her ways lead
ing down to hell"
He made no response, which, after
the style of the reporter in his novi-
tiate, | ratified on in what | took to
be the professional tone about the
- street tragedy-you may re-
member it, though it's an old affair
now He asked a few questions,
noted down what points could give
and, evidently, was about to dismiss
the subject, when, feeling laxative,
[ added | was glad the matter was
off my hands. hated the vile hor-
ror in which lost woman was mixed
up. The lost woman of the sensa-
tions was simply a nasty sentimen-
talism.
"In your ages of reportorial expe-
rience" Che had been grubbing away
as fag Of the city force for at least a
dozen years. "have you," | exclaim-
ed, "ever seen or heard of one of
these lost who had not found her
element when she became lost?"
He pulled his pipe slowly, and
made no answer.
With that idle persistence with
which at times We press a question.
in the answer to which We feel not
the slightest interest, | repeated the
query.
81 don't know" be said, dryly.
"I've known hardly a dozen women
in all my life. Not one of them was
lost" and he stopped to fill his
pipe.
A rough November gale was dash
ing sleet against the windows; it
was a long walk to my lodgings,
and the glowing coal fire in the big
Franklin stove was CHEEKY. Beside
he seemed to be in a communicative
mood-he seldom talked-and in idle
curiosity / waited to hear what he
would say.
81 can tell you something that may
change your notions as to that" he
said. at was an episode in the life
of a Times man, too-before your
day. He was one of those unfortu-
mates who happened at the outset to
have been rated as fellow of brill
liant promise, while, in fact, be wasn't
quite clever. His education bad been
of the sort to be picked up, when
was a boy in the log school house.