The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1909-02-04

whose best stock in trade in a heated
argument was always discretion-and
The stranger doomed up indefinitely
above him. After a seconds hesita-
ton, the editor decided to reason with
him
What do you want to have done?"
he said
I've got a correction here you've
got to make" said the stranger.
ooh, I 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 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 small tunnel. He pressed
the muzzle UP against one eyebrow of
the telegraph man, who stared wildly
down along the barrel and saw the
conical 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
apprehensively Outside in the hall.
the foreman of the composing room
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
Il 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 now
I'm gCin' 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 1t was a dirty
sheet, torn out of blank book, an
parently covered with coarse writing
in lead pencil, and blurred and dirty
with erasures.
The telegraph man Tapped off his
lips a couple of times and began to
scan the paper obediently. This is
what what he read:
THE hell-brats of the law say that
Mr.. Abel Hoffenheimer is a thief. They
lie. He amt thief. and they know
it. But still they hold him, and they
throw him into loathsome cells and
prosecute him always with their dead
ly hate. They have their reasons for
doing what they do. There is con
spiracy against him-a blood-red
stony-hearted hell-fed conspiracy We
know what it is and who made it, and
they would hound him to his death if
they only could. But let them beware
We know what, but we amt saving
Only this much. Their time will come
AS for us not wanting to do no man
no injury. we go down on our knees
and we lap the dust before him and
eat all the words we have wrote about
him.
That's it, said the stranger appre
ciatively, when the telegraph man had
quavered through this text Now
what do you call your head mantle
boss of the place, | mean?"
Managing editor" responded his
victim meekly..
Whats his Nance queried the
stranger
Mr.. Penfeld
Well you write at the end of that
signed and then you put down his
name"
So the telegraph man wrote down at
the bottom, Signed, Erastus J. Pen
field, managing editor"
Now that's the way you're goin' to
put it in said the stranger.
But I cant put it in tomorrow; all
the compositors have gone home" said
the telegraph man plaintively.
This statement had an unpleasant
effect on the stranger; it excited him
You're an editor, amt you?" he
asked
Yes, that is-yes, I suppose I am"
We'll an editor can get an item into
the paper. can't he?" continued the
stranger, with convincing logic.
Yes" said the telegraph man, "but
he can't print them; the compositors
do that, you know"
The stranger didn't know about
that; all he knew was that the correc
ton was going in, and if there wasn't
anybody else to do it, the telegraph
man would have to do it himself
But | can't print I'd like to, first
rate" said the telegraph man pathetic
ally, "but l can't. never printed any
thing in my life"
But the stranger was obdurate; he
said the editor would have to learn,
because that correction was going in.
This paper didn't treat me right;
no, it didn't" he went on; ut said ]
stole"
The memory of his wrongs made
him rather maudiin for minute The
telegraph man didn't like to see him
maudlin, because it. made him wave
his gun about in such careless, ire
sponsible way. But the stranger was
not long in mastering his emotions.
you see that" he said, showing the
tunnel of the revolver into the tele.
pranh mans faca again