Boy's Cinema (1930-31)

Every Tuesday BOY'S CINEMA 3 The powerful story of a ncwsp»,jer man turned gangster, who pitted his wits against law and order, although his biggest chum was a policeman. Starring Jack Holt Constance Cummings and Tom Moore. An Unintentional Recruit. THE cliicf news editor of the New- York " Morning Herald " looked up with a scowl from tlio sheets of written matter wliicli ho liad been bUie-penciliing and shouted for the copy boy. who immediately shot off liis stool and rushed to the big desk. "Take that do«n to Room Three and ask Martin where his eyes are !" The bo\ .scurried off witli the sheets of paper, and the chief news editor whipped up a teleplionc. "Give me Cookie Leonard." he .said gruffly to the girl at tlie distant switch- board. "L-e-o-n-ii-r-d—Mr. Leonard." Tiic chief news editor's name was Bct- tinson. He was a middle-aged man, rapidly going bald, and still more rapidly losing any human qualities lie may once have possessed. His job was a liarassing one. even under normal conditions, but now that America had enlered the war, even his sanity was threatened. For edition after edition of the "Herald " was daily being poured forth from the giant presses, and all the news must be up to the minute. But Chauncey Cook Leonard—k<iown o;i the staff as the "Inquiring Re- porter," and proud of the title—seldom permitted anything to distress him. He was lounging in a swivel chair in his own small den, and his feet were planted firmly on the desk before him, with the telephone between them. Ho was studying a lively little weekly publication called "Pep." and he was pleased to smile at some scandalous paragraph he had discovered in it just a? the telephone-bell shrilled. Cookie — everybody called him Cookie—was a long-legged, power- fidly framed young fellow. Among a variety of other characteristics, he pos- sessed a quantity of sleek brown liair, brushed well back from a high fore- head; a pair of shrewd—iind sometimes menacing—brown eyes; a clipped mous- tache, which accentuated a mouth that could close like a steel trap in one straight and very cruel line; .-ind a jaw that gave more than a hint of pug- nacity. He tossed the copy of "Pep" across the room, and. taking his feet from the desk, removed the receiver from the telephone. The voice of the chief news editor a.^sailed his left oar-drum. "Good-morning, sweetheart!" he an- swered clieerfull%. "This is the Inquir- ing Reporter. Will you have fish or cornflakes V "Cut out the comedy !" blared Bcttin- son. "There's a war going on ! W-a-r ! Understand? War! And the first of the vohmtcers arc parading over on Broadway, so shake the lead out of your feet and cover that parade. And don't cciU me sweelfieart I" The last sentence was thundered at Cookie, but with a grin he responded : "All right, you bald-headed old baboon !" And hung up before the ex- plosion that followed coidd deafen him. The offices of the "Morning Herald " were in West 40th Street, which is only a stop from Broadway. In less than five minutes Cookie had forced his way through a crowd of onlookers into the roadway, where the first batch of re- cruits were marching towards down- town, preceded by a band. Flags were waving, handkerchief.-; were fluttering. Cookie plunged into the procession and fell into step beside a spectacled young nuin in a shabby overcoat. "Good-morning," he said brightly ns ho marched along. "I'm fioin the ' Herald.' What noble impulse prompted vou to answer voiu- countrva call?" The spectacled young man looked sidewa>.-5 at him in surprise, and at that moment an irate jiolicenuin. who hati been hcl|)ing to keep the spectators out of the roadway, clapped Cookie on the shoidder. The reportei-. by reason of his profes- sion, knew practically every cop in New Yorl; City—and practically every cop knew him. This one, Patrolm;>n Micliael O'Dowd, knew him well. "Leonard!" he said angrily. "Will you leave those men alone?" Cookie took no notice, but continued to march beside the man he had ad- dressed. The blue-eyed, claibby-fared policeman gripped the shoulder he held. "Did >ou hear* my orders?" he demanded. "Well." the spectacled man said nn'ldl\. "we're in the war now. and I think everybody ought to do their bit. ' "Quite so—quite so." ajiprovcd Cookie. "The spirit of '76." "Did vou hear mv orders? " belloivcd 0'Dowel.' Cookie turned and appeared to l>e- come .aware of the policeman. "Listen. Mike," he said facetiously, "you can't w<ilk in this parade. That's the wrong kind of uniform to go to war !" "I got enough war with mugs like you." retorted Mike. "Now beat it!" But Cookie did not beat it: on tiic contrary, he continued to march with the recruits. Police headquarters of ihe precinct loomed up on the left. "Oh. the saints give me patience!" died Mike, resisting the temptation to resort to violence with this imperturb- able new.spaper nan. Cookie merely grinned and iOi">Ue I across at the big police-station. Ou its July 13th, 1»31.