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Show The "Cub" and His "Scoop" I By JOSEPH THORNTON I Wilkins was perplexed. As a rule newspaper reporters even though "cubs" are not placed in positions where their wits failed them as Wilkins' did. An unwritten law of the "fourth estate" is that of unswerving d loyalty to the sheet one is writing for, even though the spreading of the bits of gospel gossip emanating from the pen of one of its followers involve his own family. Dishing out news to the Great Public that G. P. without a i grain of pity or sentiment, just avaricious for and demanding every thing that transpired the day before in this little, old world is just about as grateful work as trying to rinse the ocean with soapsuds. Anyway, Wilkins was perplexed, and it all came about in this way : Wilkins' parents had long before gone to the great unknown, his father having hurriedly left this mundane sphere and a large , number of debts, in an unexpectedly sudden manner, having run foul of an engine that refused to move off the track, even when the aforesaid father then in his "cups" in which condition he was generally gen-erally found had, standing on the right of way, midway of two steel ribbons, stretching for him to the Great Unknown, solemnly and vainly ordered it so to do. f Mrs. Wilkins soon recovered from the effects of the shock, and conferred her hand, a plump, delicate appendage, in the keeping of 1 a certain Dr. Simpson. But Fate again intervened, and, owing to her excessive desire 4 for display, and forgetting that cold and' ice and sleet arc no re specters of person and she really had exposed as much as she could at a ball one night pneumonia stepped in and the soul of Mrs. Wilkins took its winged flight. " Young Wilkins was thus thrown on the mercy of the doctor. Not that the doctor possessed that virtue to any remarkable degree, but it really sounds better to say on his mercy than his charity. Home was uncongenial to young Wilkins the doctor manfully aiding in making it so so he rather drifted away from the step-i step-i paternal home, and having a natural bent and greater inclination, rc- solved to follow journalism. r He had applied at all the newspaper offices, but they didn't want j him, that is on regular assignments. Occasionally he caught a de tail detailed on some unimportant news item and made something. some-thing. , In connection with his detail work he tried space writing, but 7 what chance at a penny a line, when the City" Editor that great bugaboo could, with his blue pencil, cut a nice column-and-a-half story to a "stick" with a few strokes? v But Fate became kinder, at least Wilkins thought it did, and it gave him ample opportunity for advancement. There had been a murder, a real up-to-date murder, with suit ' case, mystery and all accessories and all that rubbish, and the "star" reporters were on the qui vive to solve the mystery, for it meant a great deal to them, not to mention what it meant to a poor "cub." The facts as published by the Eternal the morning paper on which Wilkins was working were in brief, that a certain Miss Roberts Rob-erts had been implicated in a scandal with omc young man, name and identity unknown. She consulted and engaged some certain doctor name and identity also unknown to aid her in her dilemma. She was aided, but she died while being taken care of. The first intimation of the matter was brought home to the .j jniblic by reason of her dismembered remains being found in a suit 1 4 case that had been checked at the railway station, j The crime was thus unearthed and every sleuth every detective Sor would-be detective, is a s' uth, remember and every newspaper reporter was hot on the scr solve the mystery. Wilkins had dreamed Oi t.lory in his chosen profession, but never an opportunity had presented itself. He had tried ferreting out gruesome grue-some and nauseating detn"e of unknown or little hera'ded crimes; had visited and become intimate with every prominent sleuth, with every attendant in the morgue, and was ever on the lookout for a real, good, live "scoop" wherein the Eternal would be the one to profit and he to glorify. He had dreamed of such things ; of how the C. E. would call him in, or say the "old man" : "How much are you getting now, Wilk-ins?" Wilk-ins?" and Wilkins, correspondingly happy yet diffident, would re-ply, re-ply, "Eight dollars a week, sir." How the C. E. would look at him, sharply, intently size him up, look over the "scoop-ful" masterpiece, write out a slip and give to him and say: "Too little, old man. Here's a hundred dollars for your last story. We always reward our zealous workers." Such was the state of affairs and things were drifting, and Wilkins still dreaming, when the famous Roberts murder case was hurled at the great, morbid public. The details haunted him. How he longed to be Urn one to dis-entangle dis-entangle its mystery, to bring its inwardness to light 1 He pumped everybody he could. He bored the police and the morgue keepers; he plagued every dealer in trunks and suit cases in the city ; he visited on the most trivial pretense, every physician in the city ; laid awake night after night, planning how it could have been done and should have been done, but it availed him nothing. One night after filling a strenuous detail which called for the exertion of reporting some sort of a woman's meeting, he went forth after turning in his "copy" and being told by the city editor that there was nothing else, and just because he had nothing else to do, and because it was still early only half after eleven very early in newspaper work he drifted along, thinking of the Roberts case, and so reached his step-father's residence. Being still preoccupied, he stopped when he. reached the front H door, and although he did not enter the place once a year, and owing to the fact that he had a night key in his pocket, he walked up the step, unlocked the door and entered. H How well he remembered the place; the doctor's office and con-suiting con-suiting room and private operating room behind it, to the left; the drawing room to the right ; the stairway in front facing him ; the entrance hall leading back to the dining room on the right and the H doctor's private operating room on the left. H He mechanically set his hat on the rack, walked slowly down the H hall and stopped before the little entrance, covered with heavy cur- H tains, to the private room on the left. H There was a glimmer of light through the curtains. He crept V quietly over and looked in. Through some mischance the door was H open, and so he could see through the curtains what was going on H in there. H There was the doctor, bending over a small test tube rack, H minutely examining a small object. H Wilkins you can see the necessity of pardoning his. indiscre- H tion when you learn the outcome looked intently at the :objcct in H the doctor's hand; gave a gasp; walked quietly and swiftly down the H hall to the front door; got his hat; let himself out; softly shut the H front door and rang the bell. H After a few moments the door was opened just a trifle, and the H doctor looked out. H "Oh," he said, with a sniff of disgust, "it's you, is it?" and re- H treated, closing the door. H Wilkins stepped quickly forward and pushed the door open again ' H and entered the house. H The doctor looked at him a moment and scowled. H "What do you want here?" he asked, sharply. H "I wanted to have a talk with you. doctor," Wilkins replied as H firmly as possible, though he was satisfied that the hard beating of H .his heart would require a surgical operation very shortly, to pick H the remnants of ribs out of that organ. H "You can't talk with mc now or any other time," replied the H doctor and stood, apparently waiting for Wilkins to retire ;g.,in. H "I am not practicing regularly any more; this is not your home: I don't want to sec you now or any other time, so good night." H Wilkins, in spite of the sledge hammer blows on his ribs and I the throbbing in his occipital regions, still maintained a certain dc-grce dc-grce of composure, so leaned over and whispered a few words in the doctor's car. Doctor Simpson stepped back, a bluish tinge encircled his mouth ; his hand went to his heart and with a groan, deep, prolonged, he staggered back and sat heavily, dully on a convenient hall seat. Wilkins closed the front door, then went over to the doctor and grasping him tightly by the shoulders and speaking quickly, said, "Come on," and half lifting, half carrying him, they went into the doctor's office. Wilkins, after carefully shutting the door, seated the doctor in a chair, then sat down opposite, eying him intently. "Now, we can talk more peaceably and quietly. Is there anyone likely to overhear us?" The doctor gasped, tried to speak, choked, then huskily mut-tercd: mut-tercd: "There's not a soul in the house excepting ourselves." 1 "That's all right, then," replied Wilkins. t Lighting a cigarette, he eyed the shrinking doctor with a mcnac- ig eye. "It's two years since mother died, isn't it?" he asked. The doctor nodded assent with a groan. "Two years," said Wilkins, retrospectively. "Two years. Since then I have been a little of everything not bad, only indifferent, and that's about the same. I was kicked out by you, kicked out without a cent, without any help or assistance, without a word of encourage-1 encourage-1 ment." Dr. Simpson, somewhat recovered, looked him in the eye, un-flinchingly un-flinchingly but pale. "Without a cent, without any assistance. I ought to love you, hadn't I? Really I had, but honestly, 1 don't. I've tried to make a living, tried hard to do justice to those who have employed me, to do justice to my hunger and other wants. But you never thought to care whether 1 starved, died or went to " "I never did care a continental," said the doctor, quietly, in-tensely. in-tensely. "So I assumed, and going on that hypotheses, have went my way, minded my own business until tonight." "And what in the fiend's name brought you, you here tonight?" fairly howled the doctor. "Really you shouldn't get excited," continued Wilkins. "Your heart is weak, your liver is torpid, and," rising and crossing slowly to the doctor, "your nerve is gone your backbone broken." "Yes? What do you want? You've learned something, aided by the devil. What's the price of your knowledge?" surlily the doc-tor doc-tor hurled at him. "I? What do I want? Chance did for me tonight what the combined efforts of all the newspaper boys and the police depart-incuts depart-incuts couldn't do." He turned his back on the doctor and crossed slowly over and leaned on a desk, then turning, eyed the doctor, keenly, penetratingly. "I've learned the identity of the murderer of Miss Roberts "S-hl" hissed the doctor. "Quietly. Not so loud." He crossed the room and stood by the observing Wilkins. "Tell me what you know? It's true T am the criminal, but not wilfully to blame. H "Listen." Wilkins mechanically reached down and pulled out his notebook, then sat on the desk, and prepared to make notes from the doctor's confession. Dr. Simpson, fighting hard against the emotion overpowering him, walked about the room ; now cold, now cynical, now excited, then relapsing into hardness, thinly veiling his mask of cynicism and sarcasm. "She came to me about two months ago wanted a criminal operation performed. I refused at first, but she was insistent. Final-ly, Final-ly, to help her for the sake of her her family, whom I knew very well, I consented. She came into this room." He stopped, glow-ercd glow-ercd about, waved his arms excitedly, then suddenly subsided. Wilkins, too, was awed for a moment. He gazed warily about the room as if expecting to see the ghost of the murdered girl con-front con-front him. "I led her into my private operating room. The operation, as you know, was unsuccessful, and under the shock, she died." He stopped to wipe the moisture from his forehead, giving Wilkins time to light another cigarette. "I was alarmed " "No doubt," dryly observed Wilkins. "I had really committed a crime in consenting to try the opcra-Hon. opcra-Hon. To complicate the matter, her death made me, in the eyes of the law, if not morally a murderer." He vainly tried to wet his lips with his parched tongue. "Without stopping to tlu'nk of the moral side of the matter. I at once resolved to get rid of the body. Concealing it was out of the ( question. What was to be done, then? I remembered I had a suit t case of your mother's " Wilkins jumped to his feet and made one stride to the shivering criminal. "My mother's? You damned " "Wait a moment," throwing the restraining hand of Wilkins from ! his shoulder. "Take it easy, can't you? Let me finish." Overpowering his emotion and repugnance, Wilkins slowly re- v turned to the desk, his brow furrowed, his hand clenched. 1 "1 knew I could use it with perfect safety as she had had it a number of years and it could never be traced back. I dismembered the body ; tucked the remains in the case ; put on a pair of blue glasses and a long white beard and old slouch hat and an ulster. Going to the other side of the city I called a district messenger and told him to take the case to the depot and check it and to mail the baggage check for it to a fictitious address. Then I returned here; burnt the disguise 1 had and supposed everything was concealed." Wilkins had listened with growing horror, his note book un- heeded. As the doctor concluded, Wilkins arose and began pacing I up and down the room, then stopped in front of the doctor, raised his hand as if he would strike him, muttered: "A better fate for him than I can mete out," and resumed his walking. The doctor had seated himself and was watching Wilkins, cynical, cyni-cal, cold, unfeeling, noting with joy his tense emotion, relished the look of horror and repugnance on the young man's face. "Now, Wilkins, how did you discover my secret?" Wilkins, unnerved, incapable of little more than involuntary movement or mechanical thought, looked at him and said : "Through I the door of your operating room I saw you preparing to destroy, in nitric acid " j "What?" whispered the doctor, lioarsclj'. ' "A woman's ring the one mentioned in the papers as being missing from the hand 'of Miss Roberts when she was found, and described by her parents." "So," muttered the doctor. "A little thing like that and" "Fate," interjected Wilkins. "And Fate did what all your brave sleuths and wonderful news- ' paper fellows never could do. Now what are you going to do about it?" The question was pertinent and Wilkins hesitated not a moment in replying: "Give the story to my paper," and started toward the door. "Just a moment," called the doctor. Wilkins halted and looked around at him. "What do you get a week on the paper for your valuable services?" serv-ices?" Wilkins was too muddled to think of dissembling: "Fifteen dollars." "Your publication of this this, what do you fellows call it?" "Scoop" mechanically answered Wilkins. "Scoop, yes. This will reflect grcatlv to your credit, no doubt." Yes," Wilkins replied. "You will get a raise of a few dollars, maybe, become known as a wise newspaperman and so forth, eh." "Yes." "How much will they give you when you hand in this scoop?" "Twenty, or," as dreams came up again, "maybe twenty-five dollars a week." The doctor crossed quickly over and whispered to Wilkins: "Suppose I gave you ten thousand dollars to forget this interview inter-view and what you know, for at least two years, giving mc time to hide myself. How many weeks of work at twenty dollars to earn ten thousand?" Wilkins eyed him without blinking or moving an eyelash. -f "Think too, of the reflection on your mother. It would reflect more or less on your dead mother on you, to a certain extent." Wilkins thought over his dreams; his dreams of promise in his chosen profession. On the one side it was bright with the glory of the greatest "scoop" of the year, the laudation of his fellow workers, his quick access to sudden fame in newspaper circles, his raise in salary, enough for comfort probably, but hardly for excessive ex-cessive luxury. On the other hand he saw the ceaseless grind ; the working from noon until three or four in the morning; no rest, the losing of one "story" assigned by the editor, and his sudden fall from grace resulting therefrom. The doctor's sibilant voice recalled him : "Which do you want a temporary fame, the smirching of your dead mother's name, a reflection on your own and the perpetual drudgery of hard, unappreciated work, or case, comfort for a few years at least, and no conscience to bother you. VI. eh do you prefer?" Wilkins was in a quandary. . Which should he do publish the story or take the money? |