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Show gps3j EWSPAPERS, be they 'VS CO cX semi-public i n stitu- G N tions or quasi-com-7 O Fl mercial concerns, as 5 e you wish, in either yw event command from f5YJ- their servitors the loyalty, the desperate courage and unasking devotion of soldiers sol-diers to a flag. A reporter is engaged at so much the week, and is subject to about the same hazards of hire and fire that a clerk or a street car conductor is. But he never reckons that way. He gives, he strives, he strains; the paper's glory is his recompense, recom-pense, the inch of exclusive information is his highest glory. Ask me not why this is so; I have often wondered. But that it is so no one may doubt who has iver spent years in newspaper offices. Tales of faithfulness are seldom told by "the boys." Such are taken for granted. grant-ed. Plays have been written and stories printed of men who gave up their lives for news, who did almost incredible things to get news in. Surely no salesman sales-man would do the like to get orders, and no lawyer's apprentice would go one-tenth one-tenth as far to win cases. Newspaper men are partisan With the same manly vehemence with which they love their own papers they hate all others, especially close rivals. "With this In mind, listen to this yarn as it was spun to me on a railroad tram many years ago by Paul Armstrong. I don't remember whether he said It was trie or not; no matter, however. Truth never helped a story. Truth should be a stranger to fiction. Armstrong would have written it, I know he told me so. But he died, so I shall transcribe it for him. In a New York newspaper office, an office especially noted for the zeal and clannishness and soldierly devotion of its men, the saying had grown through the generations that "Once an Echo man, always al-ways an Echo man." (We will assume that the name of the paper was the Echo, which it wasn't.) The men were chosen carefully and with extreme discretion. But once they entered, they usually remained many years. And they imbibed the love for that paper and they breathed It back with their last gasps. Not only the writers and news diggers dig-gers felt that spirit, but it penetrated to all branches. Even in the advertising sections and in the telegraph-room it made its way and held its sway. In that telegraph room, running a typewriter at a receiving box, sat for many years "Pudgy" Caldwell, operator. A oheerful, genial, gentle little man was he, fleet with his fingers, true with either car, and an Echo man of long service and unquestioned good faith. One day he came to work at his usual hour, but those about him noted that he v, ua acting strangely. It wasn't long before be-fore these fellows, expert in worming Information In-formation out of its hiding fastnesses, made Pudgy 'fesa up he was a bridegroom bride-groom I Ee told It like all newly married men. She was the sweetest, the most wonderfulyou wonder-fulyou know the rest. They had been engaged but a short time, and they had slipped across the river and been married mar-ried that morning. The Echo office was noted for Its ceremonious cere-monious greeting of such announcements In its own fold. There was much back-slapping, back-slapping, good natured joshing and interested in-terested gossip- A round-robin was started through the shop and a handsome hand-some fund thrown together for a suitable wedding gift. Caldwell kept right on at his key after that, same as he had for years before. And for many weeks he went as blithely and as regularly at his taeks as ever he had done. Then one or two of the boys noticed that he didn't look quite as chipper chip-per as once he had. They asked him, about it. He tossed it off it was noth ing. But he didn't quite convince; It eeemed that it was something, and something not trivial, at that. Then an entirely new symptom entered. en-tered. Pudgy, who had been the most sober of men, began to drink. They eme-lled it on his breath, they saw it In his eyes, the other key punchers even read It in a new and strange stutter of his nimble operating- fingers. That was bad. His best friends talked to him aboutfIt, quietly. Caldwell said It was all right he had been taking a little bourbon for a cold. And he tried to cough. But it was a dry cough, without any soul to it and it sounded dangerously danger-ously like a moan. So the boys shook their heads and wondered what It could be and hoped that nothing was wrong that Caldwell wasn't making a fool of himself or starting a trip to the dogs. So it slipped by until one day something some-thing happened that had never been known to happen before: Pudgy Caldwell did not "show up" for work. Substitute operators were plenty. But, to begin with, an Echo man was an Echo man and a substitute couldn't be; and furthermore, fur-thermore, where was Pudgy? . The managing editor, though it wasn't In his department at all, sent Jamison, one of the reporters, out to Caldwell's home to see about it. It wasn't in his department, but, if you could understand an office like that office, you'd understand under-stand that these men loved their paper and each other, and It wasn't a matter of department or responsibility or authority. au-thority. Jamison reached the flat on the second' sec-ond' floor where Caldwell lived at about 8 o'clock In the evening. He knocked on the door; no one answered. He pounded; ellence. Jamison was no child. And it wasn't the first time in his long reportorial career ca-reer that he had found it needful to get into places where no lackey held open the doors. So he got that door open, tiptoed tip-toed in, felt his way to the wall switch and threw up the lights. And what a sight he saw! On the floor, her skull caved In, lay a woman Mrs. Caldwell. Beside her, lettered let-tered and dead, lay a man, a stranger. Tumbled on a chair lay the familiar clothes that Caldwell had worn, splotched with blood, tossed there beyend question by the man who had killed the wife and the interloper, so that he could put on other, bloodless clothes, and escape. Jamison locked the door and went out quietly. He made keen inquiries of neighbors and found that no one had heard any noise; no one knew where the Caldwells were; but there had been violent vio-lent quarrels, they said, for some weeks it seemed that Caldwell had suspected his wife was receiving visits from another an-other man. That was enough. Jamison hurried back to the office and closeted himself with the managing editor. ed-itor. Twenty news men were called off their beats and territories inside half an hour and sent on the same secret, pressing mission in as many directions "Find Pudgy Caldwell, hide him and notify the office." Zt wasn't till next morning that the 1, Tumbled on a chair lay the familiar The police never found Caldwell. In clothes that Caldwell had worn, splotched time the case went Into the dusty 1 U 'VV "with blood, tossed there beyend question archives and was forgotten, if f M c fl ky ttie nmn wh had billed the wife and And the Echo office never again saw . I I ffljt v4 tlie interIPcr 50 that he could put on Caldwell. And, though a score of men ! 'I other, bloodless clothes, and escape. thought they knew something, it never lSI! Il CbJto I sPf Jamison locked the door and went out was discussed. tUill lJPssS' 1 I ' fx' f quietly. He made keen inquiries of And twenty years went by. WtAlird! rB, rVil fl neighbors and found that no one had In that time many of the "boys' had 1 nvilf I w l 'iLjf heard any noise; no one knew where the grown gray, some had died and others ft F n rJffijfl IV J'J t Caldwells were; but there had been via- had gone other ways. A new generation jj x iy 'ff Jy' -di ' lent uarres they said, for some weeks of reporters and editors and operators I JiyMJ- .. 1 it seemed that Caldwell had suspected although operators would seem to live ''! fj j wm T his wife was receiving visits from an- and last forever manned the jobs on the J jgj j yz "ZZ&tl yry - other man. Echo, and the same gospel of loyalty and 8 P w Wyfyf'i'i v That was enough. soldierly faithfulness was still worshiped. 1 lJ'y7 Jamison hurried back to the office and . Vvf closeted himself with the managing ed- ! it0r A war broke out. The United States I Mliffiff Twenty news men were called off their fighting Spain. ' I ilffffi ' beats and territories inside half an hour a Doy wno had been in knee pants IV ill sfl I I Sent n Same secret' pressinS when the Caldwell Incident took place lj 3 ij mil HI mission in as many directions "Find was sent as a special correspondent with ill jj fffif H Pudgy Caldwell, hide him and notify the Admiral Dewey. But he was stricken I jft I fflS1 I office." Tfith fever and ieft in a little port among t ii l ff, It wasn't till next morning that the tne semi-savages with a fighting chance Jif f ?JI for kJs life I nll Ia1 Only the Echo and its most formidable ifc ikllX w rival, the Democrat, let us call it, had &r$'f' YAj (K-fiKw- managed to get special men with Dewey. 1 y AA And wben the Ecno man was stricken by j f$(Vr the wayside that left the Democrat high H"WUnJ g-'-' '" and dry, in full and lone control of the Bi1v iXVS - rfysZRy ft'&jL V situation in the event that a big story r I 1 -M'SuSi imK should break, ft U I M V Echo rooms over that. They knew that 1UU ' their man would have gone along, living ing. But he didn't quite ccrr eeemed that it was something, and N'llj i-jL? j v or flyins' if there had been a ahadow of something not trivial, at that. " . . feS iV ifl I a chance; but he bad been Put off h? Then an entirely new symptom en- &'S fit (If j surgeon's orders, and if you were ever on tered. Pudgy, who had been the most VvPJM Hi lilt a battlesIlip J'ou know tnat the surgeon sober of men, began to drink. They . The managing editor, though it wasn't VjJnliVR iS mi&btier than an adrairal in EUch emelled it on his breath, they saw it In In his department at all, sent Jamison, !$vTSs!r f 1 things. his eyes, the other key punchers even one of the reporters, out to Caldwell's XRr v 0ne knew ust wbat ewey was read It in a new and strange stutter of home to see about it. It wasn't in his Hi planning to do. his nimble operating fingers. department, but, if you could understand "CV, 1 1 That he would attack Manila was an office like that office, you'd under- s" only a vague, thin rumor. That he would stand that these men loved their paper . I ' ' take it was a patriotic dream but not a police broke into the fiat, saw what Jamison had seen, and sent out a hue aud cry to arrest the missing husband. But shortly after midnight the night before, the same night that Jamison had been in and out of that flat of death, a little fruit steamer had pulled oit of the harbor and started for Central America, and just a moment before the gangplank had been dragged in, two men who were not recognized, but who might have been identified as Echo reporters, jumped ashore. They had boarded the boat two minutes earlier, leading between them a little, pudgy man, paralyzed with whisky; they had paid bis fare in gold. They had whispered to the captain. The police never found Caldwell. In time the case went Into the dusty archives and was forgotten. And the Echo office never again saw Caldwell. And, though a score of men thought they knew something, it never was discussed. And twenty years went by. In that time many of the "boys' had grown gray, some had died and others had gone other ways. A new generation of reporters and editors and operators although operators would seem to live and last forever manned the jobs on the Echo, and the same gospel of loyalty and soldierly faithfulness was still worshiped. A war broke out. The United States was fighting Spain. A boy who had been in knee pants when the Caldwell Incident took place was sent as a special correspondent with Admiral Dewey. But he was stricken with fever and left in a little port among the semi-savages with a fighting chance for his life. Only the Echo and its most formidable rival, the Democrat, let us call it, had managed to get special men with Dewey. And when the Echo man was stricken by the wayside that left the Democrat high and dry, in full and lone control of the situation in the event that a big story should break. There was gnashing of teeth In the Echo rooms over that. They knew that their man would have gone along, living: And with a F wrist as steady as his heart was not, his fingers clicked 7 or flying, if there had been a shadow of a chance; but he had been put off by the surgeon's orders, and If you were ever on a battleship you know that the surgeon is mightier than an admiral in such things. No one knew just what Dewey was planning to do. That he would attack Manila was only a vague, thin rumor. That he would take it was a patriotic dream but not a safe bet. It was the morning of May 1, 1S9S, ( when the gallant admiral stormed Manila Bay. The world of course knew nothing of that deed which was to flash around the world, make undying history and hurl 90.000,000 people into a seething frenzy of patriotism. But out on a lone island in the western west-ern ocean, a relay station of the transpacific trans-pacific cable, sat one man who knew it. He was the first to get the news this side of the Philippines. And when he got it he didn't know for a moment that he had it. So many years had he sat, this sun-"browned, sun-"browned, phlegmatic exile, on this deadly lonesome isle that he had grown into a machine, a part of the paraphernalia cf transmission. Mechanically he received from the Orient and repeated to San Francisco thousands of words a day, reading and writing each word, thinking of none of them; thinking of theUong, fading past, thinking of a home he once had had and of What was that? The little fat operator, now grown baldheaded and almost numb with solitude soli-tude and silence, sat up. "New York Democrat Dewey has taken Manila. The greatest naval victory vic-tory in " It wasn't that this Dreyfuscd operator cared who took Manila or how big a naval triumph it was. But it? was going to the New York Democrat. And to the New York Democrat only! It was the biggest beat in the history of reporting, scooping the world on the taking of Manila. A little smile played over the withered and cooked features of the fat little operator. oper-ator. He reached over -with his hand and clicked a "stop" to the Manila operator. oper-ator. He wanted time to think to clear his brain. He wanted a moment to fight, to fight his conscience as an operator 'against his sweetest love, his holiest memories, his passion that had been dormant dor-mant for many, many years, but which now flamed to life again and burned him with hotter fury than ever the merciless tropical sun had flayed his unguarded skin on this abominable, pestilential wart on the torrid ocean. The smile played. Then It went out. Then it began to play again. Then It lit up. His bronzed hand stole to the key. "Go ahead!" it tapped. And the whola wonderful, epochal story poured in over that underwater wire, the tale in all Its glory and its significance, sig-nificance, the tale over which millions would go mad, the tale that would tell the world a nation had changed hands. Word after word it clattered in; word after word, with hungry hands, he wrote it down. In a blare of adjectives and a gush of American pride the great scoop had rf' sparked its last from Manila, It now lay in the hands of the little fat man at that island relay station. He was its monitor. Its custodian. If the world would get It it would get it from him. And to the world he gave It. He opened his key and began to tap: ''New York Democrat," he began. And then, with a smile such as a child would bear when it laid at the feet of Its adored mother a gift that to its own eyes seemed wonderful and magnificent, and with a wrist as steady as his heart was not, his fingers clicked: "And New York Echo!" And then the story ran on on to its end. s- In the Echo office the managing editor ed-itor was lifted out of his chair by a wild-eyed telegraph editor who camn tearing in with a page of cable "flimsy" in his outstretched clutch, who flung the sheet before the eyes of his chief. "Good God!" screamed the managing editor. "Where's this coming from?" "Don't know," said the telegraph editor. ed-itor. And no more did he. And no more did anybody, least of all the Democrat, which found that its best hated contemporary had the full details. And that night the managing editor called Jamison, who was now whiskered and old and clipping exchanges, and bought him wine and steaks and codfish balls and fried onions and black cigars. And they drank a bumper to the Echo and to all Echo men past and present. Oh, yes Jamison was still on the paper; pa-per; so was the editor. I told you tbat motto "Once an Echo man, always an Echo man." Copyright, 1916, by J. Kecley |