“What do you mean?” asked Herbert, staring at him in an unmeaning way.
“What do I mean? I mean that you’ve got to employ strategy. When a soldier gets in a tight fix with the enemy, he uses the brains with which he is endowed for the purpose of extricating himself. So it is with the lawyer, with the business man and with mortals generally--”
“What in the world are you driving at?” interrupted Herbert.
“I know what I’m driving at,” replied the other. “Listen to what I have to say, and then try to answer me intelligently. Can you write a good Sunday newspaper story?”
“Of course, of course I know,” cut in Tomlin, “I only asked you that question as a matter of form. I want you to go out and get a first-class special story. Write it up in your most attractive style, typewrite it on the machine we have in this room, and give it to me by this time to-morrow.”
The hearty manner of his friend furnished just the sort of inspiration that Herbert needed at that particular time. He went out during the day and visited the various places where he would be likely to obtain material for a special story. It grew quite late and he was still without anything upon which he could base the sort of article that would answer to the vivid description furnished by Tomlin. On his way back to his room he stopped at an Old Man’s Home to enjoy a chat with the superintendent, who had been his friend while he was on the Argus, and had sometimes rendered him valuable assistance.
“Anything doing about here, Smith?” he asked.
“No,” replied the superintendent, “not a thing. This is the slowest week we have had for a long while. It’s as dull as dishwater.”
“Sorry to hear that,” responded Herbert; “I thought in a large community of this kind something was always happening.”
“No,” responded the other, “nothing worth printing. I’ve got a good joke on one of the old fellows upstairs, however. He was knocked out by a bat last night.”
“Yes. You see the old chap was a colonel in the Civil War--one of the bravest men that ever led a regiment. Well, while he was reading a bat flew into the room, and the things that happened during the next half hour were funny enough to make a sick cat well. The old colonel picked up his cane and chased that bird all around the room. The light bewildered the bat and caused it to flounder around so blindly that half of the ornaments in the room were broken. The colonel thought he had it at one time, though, and lifted up his cane to give the bird its death blow; but he missed by a hair, and instead of killing the pesky thing, he smashed two big vases that stood on the mantel-piece. Then when he made another lunge at it his stick went through an oil painting which I believe has been in his family for nearly a hundred years. It was daylight before that bird was thrust out of the room, and when the first streak of dawn penetrated into the apartment the floors and walls resembled some place which had just finished an unsuccessful siege with the enemy.”
