The midland journal., 1896-06-12
A FRUSTRATED SCOOP.
BY ERNEST sHRIvEs.

It was hot August afternoon, and
the suns rays beat down with melting
intensity upon the limestone pike that
served Huntington for aprincipal street.
The air was close and sultry, and the
only respite to suffering humanity came
in the shape Of an occasional pine-laden
breeze that stole down from the tall
sentinel mountains beneath which the
tiny town nestled,
Not that there was much humanity
around to suffer, for though 1t was
mid-weell, the big, boisterous engines
in the tannery on the hill were silent,
and the canning factory's gates were
closed. Even the village store was de-
serted by all save solitary clerk, who
hadn't made sale since early morning.
There was q granger picnic over at
Slawson's Corners, and most of the pop
ulation were attending 1t.
Carrie Lumsden, q summer boarder
from the neighboring city of Jones'
VILE, was one of the few stay-at-homes.
Having firmly resisted the pressing In
vitation of her hostess, Mrs. johnson,
to make one of the family party, she was
now doing In hammock on Farmer
Johnson's piazza.
The young woman had come down
from Jonesville about three weeks be
fore on an absolute quiet" prescrip-
ton. The doctor, in enjoining her to
"get away from everything" had par
ticularly specified newspapers, for 1t
was over-zeal in the service of one OF
Jonesville's morning Journals that was
responsible for Miss Lumsden's break
down. One Of the most rapid and eff
fective workerson the ePhonograph staff,
she had, for two years, supported her
self and her invalid mother, working
early and late, without q thought of rest
or the slightest attention to the repeat
ed warnings of her overtaxed nerves.
Finally these became so pointed and
peremptory as to be no longer disre-
garded Pure air, simple food, and per-,
feet rest had wrought wonders. The
girl slept like a top, and her eye was as
bright and her step as springy as ever.
She felt equal to producing any amount
of copy" and was thinking of return
ing to work again ere she became lazy.
She made u pretty picture as she lay
there, trying to settle whether to get
fully awake and resume her book, or
yield to the prevailing drowsiness and
fall sound asleep. She was saved the
trouble of decision by the sudden ap-
Dcarance of old Quarles, the Johnson
man-of-all-work, who rushed into the
yard, well blown by the unwonted exer-
ton of moving slightly faster than
walk, and crying in his strident tones:
"Oh, Miss Carrie, suthin' dreadfurs
happened! Old Steve Arnold down to
| the toll gates killed Miss Arnold with
| the ak an hung hisself. Gus Robbins
| Jess found 'em. He's overt the store.
| What kin we do? Squire Jackson's at
the picnic, an there amt nobody to
take no action"
Instantly the hitherto languld young
woman was all activity and interest.
She was out Of the hammock and down
the steps In jiffy. Here was an OPP
| portunity to atone for o month of idle
ness.
"Well, that's terrible, isn't 1t?
suppose there's nothing to do, though,
| Quarles, but wait till the Squire comes
| back. Then he'll hold an inquest.
Therell be plenty Of time for that"
The newspaper girl scented possi-
bic SCOOP" and didn't wish the matter
stirred up too much
She tossed on her "sailor" and accom-
| panied the old man over to the store,
where Robbins, lank, yellow-haired,
and exceedingly shy young man, was
| telling his story for the sixth time. He
was considerably embarrassed when the
tall, graceful, bright-eyed girl appeared
and made him give his vivid recital all
over again. It was much shorter this
time, though, for she shllfully but
charmingly headed off all Pathological
and superfuous statement. In five min
utes she had him pumped dry, and then,
| piloted by the young man and old
| Quarles, Miss Lumsden started on foot
for the scene of the tragedy, about q
mile distant, filled with ardor, but not
without q modicum of feminine repug-
nance to the gruesomeness of the mat
ter In hand. Doing murderers and sui-
cides had not been her line, but she
shranl1 from nothing that fate threw in
the path of duty.
| by half-past six o'clock she had her
story finished, and then, for the first
time, began to consider how she was go
ing to get her matter to the Phonograph
office. Thlrty-fve miles of Indifferent
road and two big mountains lay be-
tween Tannington and Jonesville.
There was no telegraph or telephone.
and the man carrier, on his picturesque
gray mare, had left on his daily trip
hours before. All of Farmer Johnson's
horses were at the picnic.
The perplexed journalist consulted
with Quarlcs and sent him out to re-
connoiter. He returned with the cheer
full news that the only horses In the VIII
lage were Crosby's old gray, that
couldn't make the Journey in o week,
and Turner's colt, that nobody could
ride or drive. Slawson's was IS miles
away, and the earliest picnicker was
not to be looked for before ten o'clock.
The trip to Jonesvillc would take fresh
horse four hours at least.
Still Miss Lumsden kept her nerve
That copy must be gotten to Jonesville
within six hours by some means. There
must be q horse. Wouldn't Quarles,
thedear old man go out and inquire once
more? The soft-hearted man-of-all-
work knew the case was quite hopeless,
but he couldn't resist those pretty, APP
pealing lips. He sailed forth, and in
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