The Face and the Mask, Robert Barr [best color ereader TXT] 📗

Some newspapers differ from others. One peculiarity about the Argus was the frequency with which it changed its men. Managing editors came who were going to revolutionize the world and incidentally the Argus, but they were in the habit of disappearing to give place to others who also disappeared. Newspaper men in that part of the country never considered themselves full-fledged unless they had had a turn at managing the Argus. If you asked who was at the head of the Argus the answer would very likely be: “Well, So-and-so was managing it this morning. I don’t know who is running it this afternoon.”

Perhaps the most weird period in the history of the Argus was when the owners imported a crank from Pittsburg and put him in as local editor, over the heads of the city staff. His name was McCrasky, christened Angus or Archie, I forget which, at this period of time. In fact, his Christian name was always a moot point; some of the reporters saying it was Angus and others Archie, no one having the courage to ask him. Anyhow, he signed himself A. McCrasky. He was a good man, which was rather an oddity on the staff, and puzzled the reporters not a little. Most of his predecessors had differed much from each other, but they were all alike in one thing, and that was profanity. They expressed disapproval in language that made the hardened printers’ towel in the composing room shrink.

McCrasky’s great point was that the local pages of the paper should have a strong moral influence on the community. He knocked the sporting editor speechless by telling him that they would have no more reports of prize-fights. Poor Murren went back to the local room, sat down at his table and buried his head in his hands. Every man on a local staff naturally thinks the paper is published mainly to give his department a show, and Murren considered a fight to a finish as being of more real importance to the world than a presidential election. The rest of the boys tried to cheer him up. “A fine state of things,” said Murren bitterly. “Think of the scrap next week between the California Duffer and Pigeon Billy and no report of it in the Argus! Imagine the walk- over for the other papers. What in thunder does he think people want to read?”

But there was another surprise in store for the boys. McCrasky assembled them all in his room and held forth to them. He suddenly sprung a question on the criminal reporter—so suddenly that Thompson, taken unawares, almost spoke the truth.

“Do you know of any gambling houses in this city?”

Thompson caught his breath and glanced quickly at Murren.

“No,” he said at last. “I don’t, but perhaps the religious editor does. Better ask him.”

The religious editor smiled and removed his corn-cob pipe.

“There aren’t any,” he said. “Didn’t you know it was against the law to keep a gambling house in this state? Yes, sir!” Then he put his corn- cob pipe back in its place.

McCrasky was pleased to see that his young men knew so little of the wickedness of a great city; nevertheless he was there to give them some information, so he said quietly:

“Certainly it is against the law; but many things that are against the law flourish in a city like this. Now I want you to find out before the week is past how many gambling houses there are and where they are located. When you are sure of your facts we will organize a raid and the news will very likely be exclusive, for it will be late at night and the other papers may not hear of it.”

“Suppose,” said the religious editor, with a twinkle in his eye, as he again removed his corn-cob, “that—assuming such places to exist—you found some representatives of the other papers there? They are a bad lot, the fellows on the other papers.”

“If they are there,” said the local editor, “they will go to prison.”

“They won’t mind that, if they can write something about it,” said Murren gloomily. In his opinion the Argus was going to the dogs.

“Now, Thompson,” said McCrasky, “you as criminal reporter must know a lot of men who can give you particulars for a first-rate article on the evils of gambling. Get it ready for Saturday’s paper—a column and a half, with scare heads. We must work up public opinion.”

When the boys got back into the local room again, Murren sat with his head in his hands, while Thompson leaned back in his chair and laughed.

“Work up public opinion,” he said. “Mac had better work up his own knowledge of the city streets, and not put Bolder avenue in the East End, as he did this morning.”

The religious editor was helping himself to tobacco from Murren’s drawer. “Are you going to put Mellish on his guard?” he asked Thompson.

“I don’t just know what I’m going to do,” said Thompson; “are you?”

“I’ll think about it,” replied the R. E. “Beastly poor tobacco, this of yours, Murren. Why don’t you buy cut plug?”

“You’re not compelled to smoke it,” said the sporting editor, without raising his head.

“I