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1 he big ^Scoop
By James Bartlett
A Graphic Story of Panic Days on "The Street" and How a Reporter Regained His Situation
D'
runk again, " murmured Gordon, who sat at the head of the "rewrite" desk and nursed a perpetual grouch.
"Which one?" demanded Conover, the City Editor, wearily. "I wish I was editing a temperance paper. Perhaps then I could count on a staff."
"It's Connors," explained Douglas, known in the office as ' l Gordon 's antidote," but you can't blame the boy. Three hours in the flooded gutter last night at the warehouse fire with thin shoes and silk socks. You can't expect him not to 'take something' for it — and you know Jim's failing."
"But wre're paying him to work, not to get drunk," protested Conover. "Connors," he added, raising his voice.
Jim Connors made his uncertain way to the desk and held on the side to steady himself.
"Go to the cashier," came the sharp command. "We must have men here who can do their work."
"There's lots of other papers!" came the thick response.
"Then get one," was the quiet retort, as Conover turned again to his work. Late that night Jim Connors staggered into the little flat that was his home and Bessie Connors gave a pathetic little cry.
"Again, Jim?" she asked with gentle reproach.
"Worse than just 'again,' Bess," he said, half sobered by the thought. "I'm let out and Conover said last time it was final."
"It will come out all right," she assured him, comfortingly. "Get a good night's rest and it will be all right in the morning."
With tender sympathy she helped him off to bed. It was Jim's curse that he loved drink, but she could not reproach him when she realized the hardships a reporter is called upon to endure.
But it wTas not all right in the morning. Jim, clean shaven and in his right mind, swallowed his pride for the sake of Bess and begged to be taken back. He even took appeal to the managing editor, wThen Conover proved adamant, but it w^as of no use. Discipline must be maintained, and sadly Jim turned from the familiar office to seek some other place.
But in panic times newspapers retrench, and everywhere he was met writh the same reply. They w^ere laying off, not taking on men. There wras no opening.
Since the panic w7as most pronounced in the financial district, Jim bent his steps toward ' ' The Street, ' ' in the hope that he might pick up some item of newrs that he could sell at space rates. Even a couple of dollars would help. But, tho he wTent to all the offices where he was known, the reply was the same. There was nothing not covered by the City Press.
Long after the Exchange closed, and the busy brokers had rushed up to the uptown hotel that w7as their favored gathering place, Jim hung about the deserted district in the hope
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