Tazewell Republican. [volume] (Tazewell, Va.) 1892-1919, 1908-12-17

OF Vdcallon. lin. A real sure
enough vacation is where you 20 out
Of the oity and have a splendid time. -
Go out OF der city," asked Tim.
eyes and mouth wide open at my re-
ply. Where der yer go when yer get
out of der city7"
"oh, there's any number OF places. {"
I answered. Some people 90 to the
seaside and some to the mountains"
Say. think I'd like the mountains
BEST said Tim. Il amt much stuck
on water statement borne out by
the condition OF his hands and face
Say. mountains awful high. ain't
lit Don't they have elevators there ,
but" He paused. and a troubled
look settled over his face.
But what, Tim?" ] asked. Whats
the trouble, now?"
Say. Bill. how is it about yer pay
whsn yer go on vacation ?" he asked
Yer see," he went on In a hesitating
voice, the rents pretty near due. an
mother can't pay It alone"
On learning that every man in the
ONCE received pay for the time he was
on his vacation just the same as II
ne mad worked. the boys face cleared.
Say, that's slick, hain't it?" he ex-
claimed. and. whistling merrily. he
rushed on to answer an elevator call.
That night at about IL o'clock came
a telephone call from Burns.
Tell Raymond that I've run across
double murder in the Polish dis.
trict, was the message. I'm going
down there for full particulars. and
say that 1 want to have Tim come
to the All Night Polish Coffee
House for copy at one O'Clock. The
police aren't onto It yet, and 1t will
be big scoop"
upon learning that he was to have
u nand In the landing Of murder
SCOOP" Tim. for the second time dur.
Ing the day, pranced with Joy.
All right, SIR" he replied. after
listening to the city editors instruc-
tons, his black eyes sparkling with the
genuine newspaper instinct; 'I'n get
that story up here so red-hot it'll sizzIe
your hands"
An hour later Burton, the night edi-
tor, came into the local room. frown.
ing anxiously.
Any signs Of Burns murder story?-
he asked the city editor. I'm holding
the first page open for Il; the copyIl
have to be here inside of ten minutes
or we can't get the paper out in time
to catch the early trains"
He had scarcely finished speaking
when terrific crash sounded through
the building. followed by a shrill,
piercing cry. In an instant every man
In the local room was on his feet ana
rushing down the corridor in the direc-
ton Of the elevator.
Almost with the echo of the crash
and scream a premonition of their
meaning had clutched at our heart
strings. Yet, accustomed as we were
to scenes of suffering and hardship.
not one of us but looked with blanch-
ing face upon the sight which awaited
us. There upon the floor, near the
elevator doorway, lay little Tim. the
blood gushing from his poor crushed
legs. AS the boys eyes singled out
the night editor from the crowd gath
cred around him he held up one weak
hand clutching a roll of manuscript.
1t was Tom Burns murder storyi
Then in faltering voice the little
fellow said:
I'm sorry I'm late, but I've landed
the scoop, haven't I? You see. the
cable broke, an 1 couldn't stop 'er.
made a jump for 1t, an II my foot
hadn't slipped I'd been all right"
Yes, you've landed your SCOOP. my
boy" said the night editor, as he took
the copy from the little blood-stained
hand and handed 1t to the foreman.
But I'm afraid" and then the big
man suddenly knelt by the boys side,
great tears rushing down his cheeks.
The next moment a great wave of
emotion swept over the crowd gath
cred in the hallway. Among them
were men who prided themselves on
their hardihood, men who had been
accustomed to look unmoved upon the
scenes OF frightful murders, terrible
railroad fatalities. and grisly horrors
OF every degree. But the sight Of the
dear little fellow, whose life had
grown so close to our own, lying there
bruised, broken. dying-end stu
triumphant In his success-swept
away the barriers of the sternest self
control. Some screened their eyes; a
few, sick with horror, swayed. half
fainting, from the hall.
Meantime everything within our
power had been done to make the lit
tie fellow easier. As / elbowsd my
way to where he lay, his head propped
by a bundle Of coats, his wounds
stanched with damp cloths, he mo-
toned me to bond over him.
Tell 'em not to feel SO bad" he
whispered. 'Tt won't last long"
Don't say that, Tim" I answered,
with would-be cheerfulness. When
the doctor comes he'll bring you
round all right. You know We
couldn't spare you from the Post"
But Tim knew best.
When the doctor arrived q few min
utes later his verdict was almost I'M
Fatal internal injuries. Can't i've
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