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Show Some Like Them Bold By ARTHUR M. YORK McClure Newspaper Syndicate. WNU Features. WALTER GATES sat straight as a rod, although it was nearly four hours since he had started wait- ing to see the managing editor. He was poised hopefully on the edge of the chair, as if he expected each minute might bring back the copy boy with the news that Mr. Pool was ready to see him about the reporting re-porting job. But, instead, the photographer came around the corner for the fourth time from the direction of the clacking city room. Walt stopped him. "You'll never get to see the old man sitting here, Matey," the photographer informed him. "He hates appointments. Funny that way." "Then how does anyone ever see him?" Walt inquired. His forehead was furrowed deeply, up to the line of his thick blond hair. He explained he had had a. little reporting experi-- experi-- ence before Army service. Now that he was discharged, he wanted to get back into newspaper work. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, proving to himself again that the artificial legs they pass out these days are no handicap. The photographer stepped closer to Walt and spoke softly from the corner of his mouth. He suggested Walt break in on the chief. "But don't let on you know who he is," the photographer schemed. "1 know a guy who got a job that way, only he didn't know he was talking to Pool, see? "But I couldn't do that," Walt protested. pro-tested. "What's to stop you? Pool's a quiet guy, but he likes 'em bold." "... But I think the paper is too neutral." 1 As Walter descended to the pressroom press-room where the chief was, the acrid odor of the etching acid reached him. He had always thought it displeasing. dis-pleasing. But now he recognized it as part of the nostalgia every enthusiastic en-thusiastic reporter has for a newspaper news-paper office. It was akin to the unkempt un-kempt appearance of city rooms and the crippled typewriters about which the reporters always complain. Walt casually observed the blur of newsprint threading through the presses and, pretending he belonged there, from the corner of his eye he hunted for Mr. Pool. All the men wore the handmade boxlike, caps which most pressmen fashion for themselves from a piece of newsprint news-print paper all except one. Walt looked at him more closely. He stood with his hands behind his back, doing nothing but observe moaning machines. He fitted exactly the photographer's description of Mr. Pool. He wore large black-rimmed black-rimmed glasses and his graying hair was parted far to one side. Walt strolled casually up to him and they watched the presses together. After waiting for Mr. Pool to speak first, Walt ventured: "There's no end to the excitement of seeing the paper go to press, is there?" He had to shout to' be heard. The man merely glanced at Walt coolly over the dark rims of his glasses. "I like the Post," Walt resumed. "It's a good solid paper. Lot of tradition tra-dition behind it. But ..." here's ...Unfa Via tnnL- tVia nhntntrranhnr'o |