As Stewart noticed the number of his last page and realized how much he had written, he paused aghast. The bigger part of his story was yet to come—all the details of the ingenious creation remained to be written. Frightened by his failure to obey orders he hastened to Mr. Latimer’s desk. Here, three tired and nervous men, with the marks of a night’s grinding work on their faces and linen—unlit pipes or half consumed, fireless cigars gripped in their set teeth—were gathered in sullen debate.
“There’s two columns of it now and more to come,” the night editor was saying decisively. “We can’t give you another inch.”
“How much more of that story is there?” he asked appealingly.
The night city editor sighed and the telegraph editor laughed sarcastically.
“Any one who can see three columns in an airship story to-day must have forgotten they’re already back numbers,” exclaimed this executive.
“Lift a column of cable rot,” suggested the night city editor. “This can’t be cut; it’s a big story and it’s a ‘beat’.”
“Give him the paper,” went on the telegraph editor wearily.
“You’ll have to get along with two columns,” answered the night editor, “unless you think the paper is elastic or that we ought to have another page.”
Mr. Latimer slapped the desk with the last “take” of Stewart’s copy.
“You fellows don’t know news when you see it. What does the average reader care about English elections and French champagne riots? Every man and boy in the United States is interested in aeroplanes. And this story tells about the final thing in airships. It’ll be read all over the world to-morrow. It’s big, I tell you, and worth a page—”
“That’s what they all say,” sneered the telegraph editor.
“And I’m goin’ to print it all—every word of it—if I have to take it up to the old man himself.”
“That’s your cue,” broke in the night editor as he excitedly attempted to relight his dead cigar. “That’s where you’ll have to go. You don’t get but two columns from me.”
“It’s twenty minutes after one o’clock,” remarked a sour voice from the near-by copy reader’s desk. “If there’s any more of that Newark stuff you’d better hump it along.”
Without replying, the night city editor tossed old Dick the last of Stewart’s story describing the departure and return of the Airship Boys’ newest wonder and then arose with fire in his eyes.