Part 90 (1/2)
”I'll go to the hospital,” she said, ”and I'll 'phone you as soon as there is any news.”
”Better come home with me, Hal,” said his father gently.
The younger man turned with an involuntary motion toward the desk, still wet with his friend's blood.
”I'll stay on the job,” he said.
Understanding, the father nodded his sympathy. ”Yes; I guess that would have been Mac's way,” said he.
Work pressing upon the editor from all sides came as a boon. The paper had to be made over for the catastrophe which, momentarily, overshadowed the typhus epidemic in importance. In hasty consultation, it was decided that the ”special” on the owners.h.i.+p of the infected tenements should be set aside for a day, to make s.p.a.ce. Hal had to make his own statement, not alone for the ”Clarion,” but for the other newspapers, whose representatives came seeking news and also--what both surprised and touched him--bearing messages of sympathy and congratulation, and offers of any help which they could extend from men to pressroom accommodations. Not until nearly two o'clock in the morning did Hal find time to draw breath over an early proof, which stated the casualties as seven killed outright, including Veltman who was literally torn to pieces, and twenty-two seriously wounded.
From his reading Hal was called to the 'phone. Esme's voice came to him with a note of hope and happiness.
”Oh, Hal, they say there's a chance! Even a good chance! They've operated, and it isn't as bad as it looked at first. I'm so glad for you.”
”Thank you,” said Hal huskily. ”And--bless you! You've been an angel to-night.”
There was a pause: then, ”You'll come to see me--when you can?”
”To-morrow,” said he. ”No--to-day. I forgot.”
They both laughed uncertainly, and bade each other good-night.
Hal stayed through until the last proof. In the hallway a heavy figure lifted itself from a chair in a corner as he came out.
”Dad!” exclaimed Hal.
”I thought I'd wait,” said the charlatan wistfully.
No other word was necessary. ”I'll be glad to be home again,” said Hal.
”You can lend me some pajamas?”
”They're laid out on your bed. Every night.”
The two men pa.s.sed down the stairs, arm in arm. At the door they paused.
Through the building ran a low tremor, waxing to a steady thrill. The presses were throwing out to the world once again their irrevocable message of fact and fate.
CHAPTER x.x.xV
TEMPERED METAL
Monday's newspapers startled Hal Surtaine. Despite the sympathetic att.i.tude expressed after the riot by the other newspaper men, he had not counted upon the unanimous vigor with which the local press took up the cudgels for the ”Clarion.” That potent and profound guild-fellows.h.i.+p of newspaperdom, which, when once aroused, overrides all individual rivalry and jealousy, had never before come into the young editor's experience.
To his fellow editors the issue was quite clear. Here was an attack, not upon one newspaper alone, but upon the principle of journalistic independence. Little as the ”Banner,” the ”Press,” the ”Telegram,” and their like had practiced independence of thought or writing, they could both admire and uphold it in another. Their support was as genuine as it was generous. The police department, and, indeed, the whole city administration of Worthington, came in for scathing and universal denunciation, in that they had failed to protect the ”Clarion” against the mob's advance.
The evening papers got out special bulletins on McGuire Ellis. None too hopeful they were, for the fighting journalist, after a brief rally, had sunk into a condition where life was the merest flicker. Always a picturesque and well-liked personality, Ellis now became a species of popular hero. Sympathy centralized on him, and through him attached temporarily to the ”Clarion” itself, which he now typified in the public imagination. His condition, indeed, was just so much sentimental capital to the paper, as the Honorable E.M. Pierce savagely put it to William Douglas. Nevertheless, the two called at the hospital to make polite inquiries, as did scores of their fellow leading citizens. Ellis, stricken down, was serving his employer well.
Not that Hal knew this, nor, had he known it, would have cared. Sick at heart, he waited about the hospital reception room for such meager hopes as the surgeons could give him, until an urgent summons compelled him to go to the office. Wayne had telephoned for him half a dozen times, finally leaving a message that he must see him on a point in the tenement-owners.h.i.+p story, to be run on the morrow.