Bismarck weekly tribune. [volume] (Bismarck, Dakota [N.D.]) 1884-1943, 1892-06-03
SEMI-LOCALS.
The Correct Man {: or, What is Ex'
pected of the Modern News
paper Man.
Northern Pacific Railroad Employees
Picnic-Our Institutes-Farm-
r at the Fair.
The Wicked World - Real Estate
Observation-Disclosures Kind
Decoration Day.
The Correct Man.

The Correct Man..
Scan you tell me where the editor
office isl" queried a tall, seedy looking
stranger of the devil, as he stood, wipins
his grimy hands on the Grape towel, nov
and then stopping to look for a mod
erately clean spot on which to wipe hi.
face.
"Down the hall. first door to the right
Look out and don't stepin that bucket
of paste I spilled on the floor" answeres
that important individual.
The tall mar sighed, took a fresh chew
Of tobacco, and started. He knocked
with an impressive rap on the editors
door, and entered in response to q surl,
'come in"
II see you haven't much to do" he
said, as he glanced at a huge pile of un.
answered letters, on the editors desk
sand so I guess I'll come in and tel.
you a few things" He placed his muddy
feet, with sublime self-reliance, on the
pile of letter, and spat, with unerrlng
precision into the editors paste.pot.
mo, we editors never have much to
do" answered the wearied knight of the
shears, as he laid down his pencil and
gazed a with calm, sweet smile at his visi-
tor. I'VE work only eighteen hours out
of twenty-four, and think about the next
days work during the next six. All we
have to do is to get every thing right
make no mistakes, mention everybody,
slight nobody, take a cussing from some
angry subscriber each morning and be
able to write scathing editorials on the
relative merits and disadvantages of
Parkhurst's method for the suppression
of vice, and upon the probable candi-
dacy of Blaine. We mustn't forget Par
son Jones when he buys a new COW,
Deacon Cross when he paints his picket
fence, and Uncle Brown when his brindle
COW has a calf. Oh, it's an easy position.
Il get SO a week." he continued, "for en-
tightening the benighted minds of an eve
critical public, and my work is SO light
and fascinating that I am ashamed to
draw my salary" This bit of sarcasm
slid from the tall mans comprehension
like rain from q gum coat. He spat
again, this time on the editors daintily
polished shoe, and then began; mo,
you don't do much, that's a fact. And
you get many things wrong, too. For
example, in speaking of my depar-
ture for the east, sometime ago,
you mentioned me as George
Brakaw, when my name is George E.
Brokow. An editor has nothing to do
but remember the middle initials of
peoples names and it's rank carelessness
to let such an item come out in your
paper. Another time you said that Mrs.
Browns COW had a black calf when I
know it to have been a brindle. Such
errors are inexcusable, when made by
one in your position. Still another time
you said that Miss Emma Smith was
teaching school north of the city, when
the school was northeast of the city.
Another blunder. But what I came in
to see you about, this morning." he con-
tinued, with a cruel solemnity, was q
little poem, which my daughter sent. to
you to have published, and which you
butchered up awfully. It began:
Oh. for the rocks and the haunts Of the sod.
and you have it.
Oh for the socks and shirts Of my dad.
Imagine my daughters horror, if you
can, at seeing her beautiful little gem
appear in this ridiculous manner, /"
The tall man was struck with the ok,
traordinary paleness of the editors face
He leaned over and looked at him, ther
felt his pulse. "Poor DEVIL" he NUT
tered, II guess he must have beer
stricken with remorse, for the editor hat
passed, calmly and peacefully, into tn,
great beyond with a calm, sweet smil,
upon his countenance. And the correc
man stole softly down stairs and decor
ated the walls with fresco of tobacco spi
as he went out.
NanAfHofn for Ro-EInntlo~