The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1930-01-09
The Suppressed
News
By BEATRICE VANDERBILT

8 By BEATRICE VANDERBILT 5
ooooooooooooooooo6
(copyrisht)
Young Sam Davis had been a re-
porter on a New York paper for
three months and still harbored the
idea that the one unforgivable sin in
journalism was to come back without
a story, and that newspapers print all
the scandal they can get, the worse
the better.
One gray, rainy November day, the
city editor summoned Sam to his desk
and told him that, for want Of bet
ter man, he was sending him to cover
the burial Of the famous bandit who
had been hanged that morning.
"Get all the dope you can" he COM
manded gruffly without looking up
from his blue-penciling. "Sob stuff.
And for Pete's sake, realize this is
news and not shipping notes."
Sam Importantly displayed his pass
at the prison gates. and restlessly
waited for the funeral of the notorious
bandit who had confessed to twenty
two robberies and eight killings, yet
who had shuddered when the court at
tendant had swatted fly. Just be-
fore his hanging he had given a cold,
dispassionate speech on the evils Of
modern society. He had talked for
one hour, holding his condemners
spellbound, and significantly stroking
his own throat with his delicate white
hand.
And now It was Sans duty to write
the ending to his grim story. He
shivered a bit with the Importance of
his assignment.
The funeral cortege, consisting Of
a group of men who were hired to
bury dishonored men, appeared. Sam
watched as the interment took place
without drama. He talked bit with
the chaplain, but the chaplain knew
of no sidelights that might be inter-
esting. The party at last dispersed
and Sam was the only reporter left.
He stood in the shadow of the prison.
defeated and disgruntled. He felt he
simply could not return to his paper
without story.
AS he was about to 60, taxi drew
up and a woman got out. She was
muffled in black with thick veil over
her face. She walked hurriedly to
the new-made grave and gently laid a
sheaf Of pale pink roses on the raw
earth. She stood moment, her head
bowed. with the cold November wind
stirring her veil. then she entered the
cab and drove on. Sam followed in hot
haste. Something exciting was break.
ing at last!
The chase led him to a quiet and
respectable street back in the city. In
the window Of the house that the
woman had entered was a doctors
sign. After a few moments Of hesita.
ton in which Sam tried to summon a
blase air, he rang the bell. The wom-
an answered It, a numb. frightened
look in her eyes.
"Good afternoon" began Sam briskly.
"May l come In? represent the Daily
Press and I want to obtain an inter
view. I saw you at Arnold's grave
while ago."
The woman pressed hand to her
white lips, but motioned Sam to enter,
leading him to coy living room with
a low fire on the hearth. "A little
girl came in once during the interview
to announce that her daddy had come
in but had gone out again. A doctor.
surmised Sam, as the sign in the
window indicated. But what was this
quiet, pretty woman's connection with
the notorious bandit?
He preached the subject bluntly,
as he imagined an experienced report
er would.
"Just what was your interest in
Arnold, MADAME" he inquired, looking
through his pockets for pencil.
II was his sister," she answered
in a low, unsteady tone. Il hadn't
seen him for years, since he ran away
from home. Even my husband did not
know that l was his sister. But /
couldn't let him be buried alone, even
in dishonor." Tears welled in her
eyes. IT know I risked great deal
by going to his grave" she added.
"My husbands reputation, my chill
dren's future. The press is a very
powerful thing" she smiled wanly,
"and l beg you not to print this story"
"Pm sorry refused Sam. II can't
suppress news that belongs to the
public. It wouldn't be fair"
He left the house. haunted by the
look of despair in the woman's eyes
but elated at the thought that he had
a SCOOP. No other paper would be car
rying the story.
He dashed into the editorial rooms
and made for the city editors desk,
hurting his tale with youthful en-
thusiasm. The city editor tipped back
in his chair and eyed him without
emotion as he talked.
Then when Sam stopped for breath
he spoke.
"Never mind it," he commanded.
'Kill it, Davis. Forget it. It would
make hot reading all right, but this
paper isn't in the business of running
respectable women's regulations and
blasting kids futures. Arnold's sister,
you say? Forget it. The dame you
saw wasn't anybody"