The sun. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1833-1916, 1876-02-09
rHE MYSTERY OF THE CLOCK.
A s.rsnr. story of the Tribune Tall Tower.


stoppsee Of the Tribune clock has not vet been
told. While several theories have been advanced
and some hints OF foul play, besides certain
dark Instructions which were as unfourded as
they were rash and shameless, no person in
possession OF the bottom facts has. up to this
time, made any authoritative statement regard
inc the unhappy flair.
We now consider It our dutv TO abandon the
policy OF sence-a policy which we have main
tained In spite Of the sneers Of enemies aud the
entreaties Of friends.
The young editor sat alone in the tall tower at
the witching hour Of 1--WE minutes past two
o'clock In the morning. lie had consd erable
reason to be satisfied with his days work. He
bad brought the domestic trials Of Edwin aud
Angelina well down to date and had crystalized
thu EN- In haL dsome Scotch-faced loaded brewer
Jay Gould had kept up town all day long. and
the clock had only lost seventeen minutes and a
bali In The twenty-four hours. Things bad gone
rs her smoothly, on the whole.
Yet SIGNS OF anxiety and Impotence were
plainly vistle on the young editors face. His
head W ~ perked back at the angle of one who
listens iDteDtly. His hair was carefully brushed
aside from bis ears. Almost every moment no
would get up and 90 to the door and then,
closing It with n sigh, pace up and down his
narrow apartment with nervous tread. Finally
be rang his bell once, twice, thrice, In quick
succession.
lis the mail in vet1" inquired the young
editor, turning nercely on the bov.
mo, sir" shivered the trembling youngiin0,
"nor the steamer nuther."
"Great heavens r. exclaimed the young edi-
tor, sinking back into his chair. 1--WE must
have Arsene Houssaye's letter IN order to make
a Unbalanced paper this morning. The rela-
ton Of the editor OF a leading American journal
to his constituents has It's responsibilities as
we'll az Its emoluments. II ia the duty OF the
scientific Journalist to print well-balanced
papers. Therefore must have Arsene Hous-
saves letter. boy, bring me my haiti"
when the young editor calls for his hat. and
In the particularly tremendous tones employed
upon this occasion, there is always cousterna.
ton In the tail tower. The news that he had
called for bis hat spread rapidly, and soon the
entire force OF the estabn shmeDt had gathered
around him, and were endeavoring to persuade
him from doing they knew not what.
But the young editor pulled his hat down over
his brow, shook his head gloomily, and, mo
tionng back those who would have followed
him, strobe toward the stairway that leads to
the clock
Up the narrow and circuitous wsy he toied past
the great weights and the thick ropes by which
they depend, In and out among the wheels and
barrels, and cog gear and CONT heated mechan-
lam OF the clock. He thought not OF distance.
nor OF bis weary legs. He thought only OF
Arsene Houssaye's tardy letter, and the neces-
sity OF having a well-bslanoed paper In the
morning. At last he reached the platform In
SIDE and on level with the four dials Of the
clock
On the face OF every great clock ia a small,
square aperture, closed by a shutter, In order
that the hands outside may be reached when
necessary. That dial OF the Tribune clock
which faces to the east IN not without such an
arrangement The young editor flung open the
shutter, ana thrust his head and neck far out
into the darkness.
He saw the stars above, and below the innu-
merable street lamps. He saw the East river
and traced Its dim course from the harbor to
the Sound. He saw the twin piers OF the bridge
standing, like Cog and Magog, the giant senti-
nels OF the night. He saw the sleeping city Of
Brooklyn, and far beyond stretched the ltmitless
expanse Of the ocean. Long and anxiously be
scanned the horizon.
Then from the interior Of the tower below
there came anxious voice, remote and faint :
Young ed tor, young editor what do you see p
It was the voice of the foreman OF the COM
posing room, impatient TO put his foruIs to press
And the young editor shouted back, d" ! see,
o Foreman, nothing but dreary waste Of
waters"
Again the voice came up; Look long and
carefully, young editor. What do you sect"
The young editor took his opera glass from
his pocket and carefully swept the horizon 81
see nothing, o Foreman, save the tossing bill
lows and the drifting kelp, and here and there a
sturgeon leapinR."
"Look once more, young editor. What do you
see 2"
~ see a sail Yonder. over Far Rockaway. II
is but an FISHERMAN, bound for Sandy Hook"
"Look yet again, Young editor"
81 see a red Hight and green light Just APP
pearlnR on the horizon. They come nearer and
nearer yet. hear the putting OF steam and the
clang-whang OF machinery. o Joyl 1t Ia the
Cunsrder She brings Arsene Houssaye 8 letter
to the Tribune and Jim BENEFITS Sunday cable
despstches. l shall have a well-balanced paper
In the morning. Now shall come down from
the tower and 60 home"
The young editor waved his hand wildly for
the steamer to hurry up; but as It soon became
evident that his frantic Resticulations had little
or no effect upon those in command of the
| sci, he concluded that he might probably de-
scend from bis eyrie.
just as be was about to pull 10 his head no be-
came conscious OF a slight but steady pressure
upon the nape OF his neck HIS windpipe was
resting upon the sill OF the window. The pres
sure Win hslOW out increment
OF force. He made strenuous but Intellectual at
tempts to escape. His neck was held as II In
wise.
Then the full horror OF his situation flashed
into his Powerful Mind. The cold bar pressing
down upon the back OF his neck was the minute
hand Of The clock!
Oh, the agony OF the next few seconds Would
the iron hand advancing on his spinal column
so deliberately and yet 50 relentlessy, ste ort
Of actual decapllaton7 Would the cruel grip
OF time send him into eternity with the full guilt
| Of the bargain with Jay Gould upon bis soul ?
| Already he was gasping on account OF the in
sufficient quantity OF oxygen which his COM
pressed trachea permitted him 10 inhaie. Al
ready his face was OF royal purple, and his eyes
| were almost bursting from their sockets.
| Fortunately the clock stopped just short Of a
| tragedy. II never very powerful clock at
| the best, and the young editors neck, which
| was near the end OF the minute hand, had the
advantage Of leverage In resisting its progress.
| The clock stopped, and the Young editor lived.
| Yet his situation was so horrible that he felt
| that even death might have been a mercy. His
| subordinates were busy below, putting the paper
| to press, and, besides, they thought he had gone
4