The Press., 1896-03-19

heart swelled with hope, and While the scene he now gazed upon was but a miniature of what lie hoped to see in the future,i the risk was all his own, to make or break Come what would he was determined to do his level best and for a time at least be newspaper pro- prietor. <"a
 He was reused from his reverie by rush of hurrying feet A heavy body came bounding, up the stairs and the door was burst open by breathless, ex- cited young fellow of 25. It was Ehe Blades one ubiquitous reporter. Pro lessor Charles B. Banks, known to ev- erybody for miles around as profess or'' No. one in all Bloomfield wore such a shining silk tile or such loud patterned clothing. Indeed it had been a common remark while professor was on The Standard that the pants of it's reporter were louder than the voice of that paper for it's party. That, however. was accounted for, so far as The Sta1ld ards position was concerned, by Pro- prietor Booled's we'll worn excuse, "We must give the town paper that will please all parties and cover the ground, for we owe duty to every body" Whenever professor heard this remark he always swOre and he had only too gladly left The Standard to en- ter Brayton s service. Professor had not a lazy hair in his body, even though he did lack balance wheel, and his nose for news became sharper and sharper as the years came on. He had panted all day for chance to work ill such d >"scoop' as he had read of, and by his excited manner it was evident to Bray ton that the desired chance had come.
 "What in inc Old Harry's up, pro- fessor?''
 The puffing, panting professor could not find breath for an extended answer. It's-itS q murder, MT. BraytOn. Wait-wait till get my wind ; Then settling himself in his chair and cale fully pull 'ng up his trousers lest they bag at the knee, professor careful! tucked his silk handkerchief ill about his spotless collar, that his perspiring neck might not lpnder that adornment limpsy, all the while breathing hard and writing fast with one handt$ Finally he threw sheet of paper over on Brayton s table and between breaths gasped:
 "Yessir! It s one of the richest things I ever struck. Old man Sawtelle has just been found murdered in his house. There's a page. Put 8 head on that. Hold the forms Never mind the mails. Give me room for about 600 words and I'll grind it out in short order. Oh, but this is beaStly. There the old duffer has laid all day ard not on 10 it. Such a story as I could "a made if I'd got it at noon even. The Standards left, though. I saw BOoled and Slocas-he's the new man-going up their stairs easy like when ran round the pOstOffice corner. There aih't soul in town on to the racket but me and White, and he don t like BoOled for that last toast he got. White S good offict if he does spree it a little. It's a scoop sure as''-
 "Never mind now. Write and write fast. Boil it down. Work ill all the facts and no frippery except slight descrip- tiOn of the surroundings and brief biography at the close State he's mur- dered, with what and. by whom, when and where. Then the description and the biog. after. Push that pencil now for certain while strip the hook. '' And Brayton bounded out to the composing
 Murder it is, Hobbs. We've got one sure as you're born. Strip the hook. I'll rush it right out. Don't let man off. Cut it up into short takes, and I'll read