The Lexington intelligencer. [volume] (Lexington, Mo.) 1901-1949, 1909-07-24

argument was always dlscrel on-and
the stranger looned up indefinitely
above him. After a seconds heslta-
ton, the editor decided to reason with
him.
What DO you want to have done3"
he said.
I've got q correction here you've
got to make" said the stranger
"0h. l can't do that sort of thing"
said the telegraph man, cheerfully,
you'll have TO see the city editor.
Come around this afternoon about two
o'clock"
He reached up his hand again to
the electric light.
You sit down." said the stranger,
with a tone OF frank determination. At
the same time he brought his right
hand up into the light with the bunch
Of gas pipe. 1t was a revolver, with
a bore like a small tunnel. He pressed
the muzzle up against one eyebrow Of
the telegraph man, who stared wildly
down along the barrel and saw the
conicsl bullets peeping out of their
holes in the cylinder, like the heads Of
nasty little animals peering out Of
their burrows. He sat down hurriedly.
The old Office clock licked loud and
apprehensfvely. Outside in the hall,
the foreman Of the composingroom
and his assistant closed the rear of
the procession OF compositors and left
the telegraph man alone on the floor
with his visitor, The silence was
very impressive.
81 amt comm up here again" the
stranger said finally, I've come often
enough already, I've been thinking
this thing over all night long, and nov
I'm goin' to have It In the paper to-
morrow, and it's goin' to be in to suit
me this time. I've written 1t out my
self. Here, you read that; that's what
I want"
He let down his revolver with his
right hand and brought up the piece
Of paper In his left. It was a dirty
sheet, torn out Of a blank book, ap-
parently, covered with coarse writing
in a lead pencil, and blurred and dirty
with erasures.
The telegraph man Tapped OF his
lips a couple of times and began to
scan the paper obedfently. This is
what what he read:
THE hellbrats Of the law say that
Mr.. Abel Hoffenheimer is a thief. They
lie. He aln't q thief, and they know
it. But still they hold him, and they
throw him into loathsome cells ant
prosecute him always with their dead
ly hate. They have their reasons fol
doing what they do. There Is a con
spiracy against him-a blood-red
s~tony-hearted, hell-fed conspiracy. WI
know what It is and who made 1t, ant
they would hound him to his death 1
they only could. But let them beware
We know what, but we amt saying
Only this much. Their time will come
AS for US not wanting 10 do no maj
no injury, we so down on our knees
and we lap the dust before him ant
eat all the words we have wrote abou
him"
That's It," said the stranger appre
ciatively, when the telegraph man hat
auavered through this text, Nov
what do you call your head mantle
boss Of the place, I mean?"
Managing editor" responded hi
victim meekly.
What's his manner" Queried thu
stranger.
"Mr. Penield."
We'll, you write at the end of tina
signed and then you put down hi
name"
So the telegraph man wrote down a
the bottom, Signed, Erastus J. Pen
field, managing editor"
Nov that's the way you're goin' t
put It In" said the stranger.
But I can't put II in tomorrow; al
the compositors have gone home" sal,
the telegraph man plaintively.
This statement had an unpleasan
effect on the stranger; 1t excited him
You're an editor, amt your" h
asked.
Yes, that is-yes, l suppose l am
well, an editor can get an item int
the paper, can't her continued tn
stranger, with convincing logic.
YES" said the telegraph man, "bu
he can't print them; the ~OOmpoSitsr
90 that, you know"
The stranger didn't know abou
that; all he knew was that the correC
ton was going in. and II there WASH
anybody else to do It, the TELEGRAPH
mar would have TO do It himself.
But ! can't print. I'd like to. frs
rate" said the telegraph man pathetic
ally, "but l can't. l never printed any
thing in my life"
But the stranger was obdurate; h
said the editor would have to Learn
because that correction was going in.
This paper didA't treat me right
no, 1t didn't" he went o 1T said
stole"
The memory of his wrongs mad
him rather maudlin for a minute. Tn
telegraph man didn't like to see hill
maudlin, because it made him wav
his gun about in such o careless, irr'
sponIible way. But the stranger wa
not long in mastering his emotions.
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