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Show THE CUB'S SCOOP. (Written for Goodwin's Weekly.) 1 was t.ie cub reporter on the limes in those days, and I had just one ambition in life. That ambition was to see a story of mine on tne first page under a double-head. I was building air castles along this line that Saturday night when Murphy called me to the desk. "Got anything to do?" was his gruff greeting. Ho know I had nothing to do but twiddle my thumbs; that I had not turned in a lints of copy all day although al-though it was then 10 o'clock at night. Knowing all this he had no delicacy about starting me out. I was to go to Daniel Thurlow's, No. 357 Olive street, and get the details of his sale of his interest in the Belle Tracy mine. The story was that ho had sold his third interest for $32,000 j that he haa been paid $3,000 in cash to bind the deal, and that he had arrived ar-rived home from the mining district on the 7 o'clock train. I caught the Brighton car that took me within two blocks of Thurlow's home. The house was totally tot-ally dark; it was far back from the street; the yard was full of bushes and the whole place made me feel lonesome. After knocking twice I found the bell and rang it with vengeance. There was no response; re-sponse; I could raise no one and I returned to the office. of-fice. "Well?" That was Murphy's query. It is the one I hated to hear; it made me feel like a culprit when I had failed on a story. He knew I had nothing this time. After I had related my Experience, he looked at me as though he did not beaeve a word of my story and said: "You may go right back," and he went on slashing his copy. I hesitated for the fractional part of a second and then went back. It was striking the hour of midnight as I reached No. 357 Olive street for the second time. I must have put in ten minutes min-utes pounding on the door and then I caught the last car down town. I made up my mind on the way down that I would brace up to Murphy and give him as good as he sent, but as I neared the office I cooled off. When I faced Murphy I felt like apologizing. I told him what I haa done. He didn't rant as I thought he would. He said quietly: "Mr. Dunlap, you may get that story or not, just as you please; but if you don't get it you need not report for duty again." "But Mr. Murphy ." I was trying to say when lie cut me off. "We'll not discuss this matter," he jerked between his pipe stem and his teeth, and I found myself going down the stairs to uie street. I was hot now. I would go back to that 'measley old house and shake the adobes down about old Thurlow's Thur-low's ears. If I got shot as a houseoreaker Boss Murphy would have a story anyhow. Ho could start it off with "Frightful Accident! Craig Dunlap, the Brilliant Young Times Reporter, Shot Dead by Daniel Thur-low Thur-low While in the Performance of His Duty." I walked the whole distance of fully two miles up to Thurlow's home and did not sight the stone wall in front till near 2 o'clock. Good luck this timel There was a light in the rear window, but even as I looked it winked out and 1 concluded I was mistaken. The sounci of retreating footsteps in the rear of the house must also have been in my imagination. I went to the front door and repeated my knocking and ringing, with the same result. There was no response and all was quiet as the grave. Then I knew I was mistaken about the light and tho footsteps. I puckered up my courage and went around to the back door. I found it wide open. This gave mo a shock; I felt then for the first time something was wrong. My knees shook under me and the prespira-tion prespira-tion started from every pore. I never knew before that I was such a coward. I could nardly resist the impulse to turn and run. All that saved me was the thought of Murphy. His treatment of me had touched mo to the quick. I would get revenge now or die in tho attempt. There was one other consideration that spurred mo on. It was my desire- to scoop the Journal. That rag had beaten the Times off tho face of the earth for a month .and our whole force was wild. If I could redeem the paper with a big scoop I would bo the hero for a day at least. From that moment the news instinct took complete possession of mo and crowded out every other consideration. I pounded on the open door. Empty echoes came back. I stepped into the room with a shaky hand and lit a match. I was in the kitchen and all was in order. I found a lamp on a shelf, lit it and passed into the main room in front. This was the family living room and from it opened two bed rooms. A hasty glance showed overything to "bo in good order hero and I pushed open the first oed room door and looked in. The sight that there confronted me caused me to turn sick; the lamp shook in my hand and I gripped the side of the door to keep from falling. Should I live to be a hundred years old the picture will never fade from my memory. Daniel Thurlow, a man of sixty years, with white hair and beard, was lying across the floor near the foot of the bed. Across his right temple was a fearful mark made by some blunt instrument. Mrs. Thurlow was lying on the bed smothered to death. I blush even yet to confess it, but after the first rush of horror had passed over me as I stoou in the presence of this frightful crime, the newspaper instinct in-stinct returned with redoubled force. I must have been drunk with a desire to win distinction for the Times and achieve a victory over the Journal. Instead In-stead of rushing out and giving the alarm I thought only of the s'fory this would bo for the Times in the morning. Both Thurlow and his wife were deau. The evidence evi-dence was clear that the unfortunate man had been alarmed by someone in the room; he had started to get out of bed but before he reached the floor he was struck on tho head by the assassin and instantly killed. A piece of iron pipe about two feet long on the floor told the rest of the story. It was evident also that the old lady had been aroused from her sleep, had recognized the murderer of her husband and had been smothered with the bed clothes. In the corner of tho room stood an old-fashioned red bureau. The top drawer of this was open and in tho corner was a tin box that had been broken open. There remained many old papers anu letters, some pieces of quaint old jewelry, and a little leather case containing two daguerreotypes, a young man and woman, probably Mr. and Mrs. juiurlow at the time of their wedding. Later developments proved that $3,000 in cash had been taken from that tin box that night. So far as I could see in my hurried inspection of the room the murderer had left no trace of his identity. iden-tity. I passed into the front bed room and found everything there in perfect order. On a table in the living room I found good photographs of Mr. Thurlow Thur-low and his wife; I put them in my pocket without a thought of the wrong. Here I found the open window win-dow through which tho murderer had entered. It was clear that he had climbed in through this window win-dow and gone out through tho kitchen door after (-killing the old people. My excitement as I figured out the details of tho horrible crime caused mo to forget the lapse of time so that I was dumb-founded on looking at my watch to find that it lacked but a fow minutes of 3 o'clock. The Times went to press at 3 o'clock, and earlier on Sunday morning whenever possible. Hero was a pickle. There was no telephone within reach. I must take chances and run for it. In a panic I rushed through the kitchen door the way I had entered leaving the lamp burning on the table. I jumped the stone wall in tho corner of tho yard and started on a dead run down the hill for tho office two miles away. I ran as I never had run before. All went well till at the corner of Main and Chestnut Chest-nut I ran squarely into the arms of Darby of tho Journal. -- . RSkuBI "Blood and fire, Dunlap ! what's broke loose now ?" 8M he gasped. jyQJfl "A little first page yarn," I puffed and broko SRKfl away from him. 1BHH-I "Give us a tip, old man," he called after me. JBWB "Yes I will, nit!" was all the answer he got as I uBH rushed on. BUmM When I rushed into the Times office a minute BI later Murphy was preparing to leave. "Well, I MW presume, ' he was starting to say something IMbM mean when he got a good look at me. Then ho 1IHH jumped up. j jjHifB "Good God, kid! What's the matter?" ho cried i -HHI out. flmifW-l "Murder." I gasped and collapsed into a chair. HRfn Then there was a rush and a whirl around tho HHi-i Times office. The last form had gone down. Every- gfSE H thing was stopped. In a jiffy Murphy had jerked IB 11 the main facts out of me and was writting like a IWm flj demon. Ferguson, the fast type-writer, was rushed fBjB I up and for twenty minutes I talked into that ma- Hh M chine while pago after page of copy flew up tho WHi chute. The photographs had been snatcheu. from my mm ffl hands and were gone. Spindle sat behind me as HI I told the story and sketched the scene in the bed hH I room from my description. Murdock, the managing SH9 editor, was here, there and every where giving orders. IflflBM The spirit of rush was in the air. fWtH Finally after every material fact had been squeezed Mllllfl from my brain and I was thinking about something HSfM to eat, there was a commotion at tho door; it was MkHII pushed violently open the next minute and in rushed HH-fl Morrison, the sporting man, dragging behind him Hfilfl by the collar Darby of the Journal. Hfifl "I caught tins little devil listening at tho door HUH to jjet our story," Morrison said as he held his ffllRfl prisoner up to our gaze and shook him like a dog HHfl would shake a rabbit. It was plain what had hap- WH pened". Darby had got word to tho Journal that HRI something was up and had stolen into the Times MffllH building to get a lino on the story. Murdock's decis- 1!I9 inn on this occasion proved to mo that he was a llfrafl genious. MtflJgfB "Mr. Morrison," he said speaking as though he Hjl were in a ball room; "I am inclined to think you are fSB-U mistaken in this matter. Mr.' Darby has done us Ii9--I the honor to call in a friendly way. I am sure he H-HI would like to inspect the Times plant. You may 8Hfl tie his hands behind his back so that ho may not &fll get his Angers in tho cog wheels of tho machinery HSU and then escort him all through; show him every- IBIbhB thing." BUM Morrison caught on. Ho chuckled as he tied Dar- flffiH by's hands and a general laugh broke out as ho HHfl started on his tour of inspection with his prisoner's HHH collar gripped in his good right hand. Tho tour was ifiB-B not completed till 0 o'clock when poor Darby was ffiBH turned loose with his pockets stuffed witu copies of HraiH the Times containing my big story. Hiifl It was after 4 o'clock before the rush was over HsU-l in the office and I was wondering how long it would H-R-fl bo before I could read my story on tho first page of BBs-M the Times' when Manager Murdock stepped up to flnt-fl me and said: BBul "Craig, did you 'give all tho details of this affair IEfiJl to the police?" BKfll "Why no," I said; "I havn't had time to," but H&H he cut me off. Slff-B "Do you mean to say," he demanded anu his voice hSUnB was stern; "that you have neglected the first duty fliffl-i of a citizen; that you have failed to report this HlPUB discovery to tho officers of the law? You should Hlfl have rushed to the police station at once and then Hf8H reported co us. Go now as fast as you can and at- jl!ll tend to this." raflill--i There was no starch in me after this. I started BjffJlB but outside the door I stopped and wondered what HBmMM the laugh Avas about. I found out later. When I HEU-H got to the station I found Dollivcr of the Journal still HKrafl on the look-out; Curtis of the Times had gone. At H-H-SB the desk I told the story with Dollivcr at my elbow. JHIi The wagon was ordered out and Officers Hardison B-HH Continued on page 10. f JBi8fifl ''HBH The Cub's Scoop. Continued from page'5. and Miller were ready to make a run for No. 357 Olive street. Handison took Dolhver and myself into a corner and said: "Now, boys, you must say nothing about this in the morning papers and give us a chance to catch the whelp who did this job." But even as he spoke the newsboys came on their early morning rounds and threw in copies of the Times and Journal. There was not a line of my story in the Journal, but in the ximes Talk about double first-page stories! They were not in it. Across the first five columns of the Times ran the words in bold black type, "Horrible Double Murder!" The next heading in type somewhat smaller read: "Daniel Thurlow and His Devoted Wife Murdered in Cold Blood for $3,000!" Following Follow-ing this were the sub-headings giving the main facts as I had related them. Then followed the complete story. The pictures were all there; the photographs of the murdered couple; Spindle's sketch, and joy to the world! a picture of Craig Dunlap in his high school graduating suit. I have that copy of the Times yet. The story of my arrest charged with the murder and my second big scoop all came out in the Times the next morning. (9 V. iJVrAKGMJOA |