The Press., 1896-03-19
The Story of a Newspaper War.

By Mrs. H. A. STANLEY.

ICopyright, 1895, by American Press AsSoc1a-
 tion.
 CHAPTER I.
 ''Proof !'' yelled Editor Bob Brayton, as he showed roll,of copy wrapped in that article out through the small win dow of his sanctum. <
 "Proofp' echoed. the shrill voice of Peeto, the galley boy, as he grasped it and showed another in to take it's place.
 "How's copy coming up, Peeto? Are the boys pulling out lively?"
 "Well, I should sayl To beat the cars The hooks pretty near clean. We'll be on the press in half an hour. That old tramp, though, downs 'em all. He's a reg lar machine. He's got 15, 900 now, and it looks as if his string'd break the office. Says he carried the banner last night cause he hadn't no money to hire bed, but he'll be able to put up to the best hotel in town to- night. Wish I could ever strike his gait. You'd gimme a case then, Wouldn t you, MT. Brayton? Oh, he's corker, and"-
 "Here you, Pete! Hustle out here with that proof. You chin too much. Jerk that other galley there. Quicker n greased lightning Fly now!" The ex- citable foreman came forward on a run as he spoke and snatched the proof from the boy s hand.
 "Any more copy, MT. Brayton? Can't set a line moro unless it's murder. Holding the forms now for the last take of that long winded common council re- port that new man wrote up today. Ought to been on the hook last night. Here you are, slug 4. You z this galley to correct. You TO as bad as one O them blacksmiths over to The Standard, Uncle Jimmy James over there iIl the corner ain't had one on him today
 "WelI, what if he ain't? I ain't no Methusalum nor Wanderin Jew. Pm jest an ordinary comp with small c, grumbled slug 1, as he took the galley and marched to his case.
 "Mebbe you never shook hands with Horace Greeley or ole man Bennett, :" ventured the grinning PeetO, and there was a general laugh.
 The slim, wiry old man over next the window never relaxed a feature or lost a stroke, but worked right along, the afternoon sunlight as it sifted in through the dusty pane transtiguring his clear cut profile and showing a face rarely seen ill old age at a printer case. Only misfortune of some sort had kept him down, Bob BraytOn was sure, and he unused on it as he gazed out On the busy scene.
 All was hurry and hustle. Every man worked as if his individual welfare de pended on it. This was the first going to press of the new Blade, and with it's youthful editor every man hoped for a prosperous and brilliant future for it, unless perhaps it was the impassive old man over by the window. He had seen papers rise and fall. He had worked on everything for 40 years or more, and never was known to express d preference or an opinion for anything or anybody. A mystery he had ever remained and aside from his oft repeated assertion that he was mot tramp, but a tourist, :" and that he had shaken hands with cer- tain distinguished newspaper men of an age gone by, no one knew aught of him. As for Bob BraytOn, who had risked his all in this attempt to earn place for his Blade, he was an all round newspa- per man and printer. Serving long apprenticeship on the Boston Herald, he had held good position later on the able Springfield Republican. This he had subsequently resigned to come to Bloomfield and establish small job printing office and get acquainted with the people. His ultimate intention had always been to establish a newspaper, and now he had made the effort. His