“You stay here,” he instructed. “Don’t tell anyone about those films until I get back! Deems is a friend of mine. If I can locate him in time, I may be able to save your job.”
Flash waited without hope for Joe Wells’ return. He did not know exactly what the photographer had in mind, but it was too much to believe that Clyde Deems, a rival photographer, would make the slightest effort to help him even if it were possible.
The door swung open. Wells came hurrying in to slap a photograph mailing envelope on the desk before Flash’s startled eyes.
“Got it!” he announced triumphantly. “Only one picture and it’s not of the knock-out. But it may be enough to save your job.”
Flash snatched up the envelope and examined the film eagerly. It was a good clear negative taken during one of the early rounds of the fight.
“Print it up before Riley starts yelping,” Wells instructed tersely. “He’ll squawk because you missed the knock-out, but he may not fire you.”
“Joe, how did you do it? I’ll never forget this favor.”
“But I thought photographers were supposed to work entirely on their own.”
“That’s the general idea,” Wells nodded. “Mostly we do work alone, but now and then we give the other fellow a helping hand. Not a photog in the business who hasn’t been in a jam sometime in his life. And Deems is a good friend of mine.”
“I hope he doesn’t get into trouble on my account.”
“He won’t unless Luke Frowein spills the story.”
“Yes, he was in the darkroom at the _Globe_ while I was talking with Deems. I didn’t know it until later. He ought to be decent enough to keep quiet.”
With Joe looking on, Flash rushed the picture through and sent it to the news room. He waited for the summons. It came.
“Is this the best you can do, Evans?” the city editor demanded. “We send you to get good fight pictures and you come back with one shot of the second round! What were you doing—sleeping?”
“I took some others,” Flash admitted lamely. “They weren’t clear enough to print.”
“If you expect to stay with the _Ledger_ you’ll have to buckle down and do better.”
The editor glared and, writing a caption for the picture, tossed it into a wire basket.
A wave of relief passed over Flash. He wouldn’t be discharged, after all. At least, not before the end of the week. But he had been warned.