Evening star., 1941-03-23


body remembered to send him a final
edition. If so, I'll be fired myself!
Gosh! Do have to attend to every
sniveling little detail around here my
self?"
At just the same hour, the Local
Editor at the wire outfit was being
given lacing, hauling over hot
Goals. The Supervising Editor was
raving. He had never encountered
such inexcusable inefficiency. At nine
PM. story had been cleared by the
Local Editor. describing fierce snow
storm, describing school busses stalled
in New Jersey by heavy snowfalls, de-
scribing men, women and children
showed in, without milk, in Kansas,
Montana and Virginia. And here was
the Service sending out story at
925 about a robin and bluebird
seen in Coradell, N. ]. What did the
Local Editor think he was running -
a true love story magazine? Another
blunder like that, by heaven, and
there would be new Local Editor.
AT THAT hour, Paul Hacker answered
the telephone and learned he was
fired.
The City Editor was blistering.
you might. at least. have called
the Weather Bureau he snarled.
"You might have checked, at least
little, before you wrote that column
and half of unadulterated tripe.
Come down and get your pay"
"Okayr' snarled Paul Hacker.
"You needn't get nasty about it."
He remembered how the City Editor
had praised the piece the evening be-
fore. but it was useless going into all
that. "Okay, l hear you," he shouted.
"Why. you dim-witted - you ="
He tried to think of the greatest pos
sible insult and found it. 81 wouldn't
work on that lousy rag" he beloved,
''for a hundred a week. Then he
banged up the receiver while the
City Editor still ragged.
Paul felt whipped, defensive. He
went back to his twin bed, and looked
at the empty one, and was very bitter.
And that was that.
Hacker fired, the City Editor in
disgrace, the Local Editor at the wire
service fighting for his job because of
a silly bit of nonsense about gypsies
and green-lined roads. While sleet
crashed against Manhattan windows
and the WPA workers came out to
mop away the fresh white carpet with
wide spades, and news photographers
snapped shots of wind-blown skirts
and pretty legs and leaning figures
under the arch of the Municipal
Building.
lHE Old Man had late breakfast
on the veranda over the sea. by the
row of hibiscus that rioted red and
pink. A pair of pelicans tapped clum-
silly by the palms and came down on
the blue water with heavy splashes.
They folded their wings awkwardly
and eyed him, waiting for scrap of
food. The Old Man looked up from
his paper and said. Hello, Bill. you
old beggar," to one of the pelicans.
Bill was an old acquaintance. He'd
been coming to breakfast for years.
Brought a girl friend today, did
you?" the Old Man said. fondly.
Ought to be ashamed of yourself,
Bill. At your age"
Bill cooked his head and eyed him
irritably. He ruffled his feathers i'm
patiently. As though to say, "Well.
come on now - cut out the persiflage.
Let's have breakfast"
The Old Man picked up two scraps
and scaled them out. Bill and his girl
friend went for them. Somewhat un-
chivalrously, Bill swallowed both, and
looked rather pleased with himself.
His girl friend scolded him raucously.
The Old Man went back to his
.-.->o~, ;,,et ,rr;,1ad hv r,Iape fron