"Right across the way, there, back of the shoemaker's," the landlord told him. "The _Daily News_--best little paper of its size in the state."
The editor, the printer, and the printer's devil were all busy doing justice to Mr. Tarkington with an "in-our-midst" paragraph when the novelist arrived.
"I've just lost a dog," Tarkington explained after he had introduced himself, "and I'd like to have you insert this ad for me: 'Fifty dollars reward for the return of a pointer dog answering to the name of Rex. Disappeared from the yard of the Mansion House Monday night.'"
"Why, we are just going to press, sir," the editor said, "but we'll be only too glad to hold the edition for your ad."
Mr. Tarkington returned to the hotel. After a few minutes he decided, however, that it might be well to add, "No questions asked" to his advertisement, and returned to the _Daily News_ office.
The place was deserted, save for the skinny little freckle-faced devil, who sat perched on a high stool, gazing wistfully out of the window.
"Gawn to hunt for th' dawg," replied the boy.
"You are the greatest inventor in the world," exclaimed a newspaper man to Alexander Graham Bell.
"Oh, no, my friend, I'm not," said Professor Bell. "I've never been a reporter."
Not long ago a city editor in Ottumwa, Iowa, was told over the telephone that a prominent citizen had just died suddenly. He called a reporter and told him to rush out and get the "story." Twenty minutes later the reporter returned, sat down at his desk, and began to rattle off copy on his typewriter.
"Well, what about it?" asked the city editor.
"Oh, nothing much," replied the reporter, without looking up. "He was walking along the street when he suddenly clasped his hands to his heart and said, 'I'm going to die!' Then he leaned up against a fence and made good."
Enraged over something the local newspaper had printed about him, a subscriber burst into the editor's office in search of the responsible reporter. "Who are you?" he demanded, glaring at the editor, who was also the main stockholder.
"And who are you?" he next inquired, turning his resentful gaze on the chocolate-colored office-devil clearing out the waste basket.
"Me?" rejoined the darky, grinning from ear to ear. "Ah guess ah's de cul'ud supplement."