The guardian. [volume] (Boston, Mass.) 1901-1960, 1940-07-06
Human Interest
So@
By RAY FOLEY
Mcclure syndicate-wNU service.l

IA city editor. He snapped his fin
gers triumphantly and swept his
glance over the busy editorial
rooms. His searching gaze lighted
on Joe Ryan, doing at a corner
desk.
"Ryan!"
The below heaved Joe to his feet
"Coming, chief"
Listen, lug, the editor said
when his reporter had perched HIM
self upon a corner of his desk, Pm
sick and tired of dishing out the
same old sawdust of politics, muir
der, breach-of-promise actions, and
press-agent blurbs. l want some
thing real for a change, something
close to the soil. A story that will
touch the heart of every readerl A
simple little tale of defeat or tri-
umph that will get the same reac-
ton from a banker or bum. Do
you follow me?"
Joe scratched his head.
Sure. But where will l get it?"
The editor buried his face in his
hands and groaned.
Where will l get it?' he asks
me! A million living, breathing peo-
pie within a radius of few miles
and he asks me Where will l get
it?'"
He drew tremendous breath and
barred his teeth but when he opened
his eyes to deliver his whitening
I blast Joe was wisely among the
missing.
Five minutes later Joe Ryan sat
within roaring elevated train.
1.-THE guys got a screw loose"
he muttered. Something close to
the soil he tells me-and there amt
enough soil in this city to grow a
geranium."
He bent a skeptical eye on the
stream of people drifting below. "As
alike as a basket of string-beans.
All doing their usual jobs in the
usual way; living, marrying, having
children, celebrating anniversaries
-Whe-e-e-e-e-ei"
He broke off his sullen musings
with a startled whistle. His wan
dering scrutiny had encountered a
long, ragged column of shutting,
beaten men that struggled the length
of cherries street.
"a bread-line!"
In the depressing parade of hun
cry outCaStS must be vivid tales of
men who had cast dice with the
gods and lost. There was lead
for the opening sentence-"The dice
of the gods are loaded" No, too
hackneyed! He was asking for
bread, this man who ="
j With mind busily stringing words
together that would grip the read
er's attention, Joe hurried off the
train.
1t was a different Joe Ryan who
faced his editor shortly afterward.
''Just take look at my peepersl"
he commanded.
The editor lit foul corn-cob and
sneered. ITO blazes with your peep
ers. Did you get the story?"
81 found bread-line-"
Great"
"Sez you'll | had visions of enough
human interest stories to last a
year And what did l get? Take a
look at these eyesl"
The editor repeated his opinion of
Joe's swelling blue-black eyes and
the reporter burst forth again:
81 joined the line myself as though
| were as broke as the rest of
them"
"a perfect disguise"
you're telling me- When / final
ly got my mug of coffee and vul-
canized sandwich | spotted a group
of four fellows sitting together. In a
tactful way | seated myself near
them and although they weren't very
talkative l managed to get some
thing out of them"
"Well?"
Zone of the fellows was a short,
fat Frenchman who said he used to
be a cook for millionaire stock
Spectator The millionaire went
broke and as the demand for fancy
French cooking had vanished he hit
the toboggan slide. The second fell
low was a lanky Englishman who
informed me that he was formerly
the butler for the same millionaire.
The third guy, husky Irishman,
claimed that he had been the mil
lionaire's chauffeur"
"They we're kidding you'll"
Don't | know it? When | got
around to the fourth geezer who was
kind of short and slim and weary
looking, says: I suppose you're
the millionaire these birds used to
work for. And with that the big
Irishman ups and bangs me twice,
once in each eye"
Serves you right. You ought to
know that a man loses his sense of
humor when he stops eating regu-
larly
81 know it now. But what about
the little bunch of violets for your
box on page one?"
"Well, let it go. I've got another
idea. It's red hot. Listen" W
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