Chapter XIX · THE ENEMY’S MOVE.

Although the Bulletin was not a profusely illustrated newspaper, it maintained a photo-engraving plant of its own. Carroll had installed this department when he first acquired possession of the paper, and had brought a man named Neilson from New York to take charge of it.

It had been Carroll’s original intention to go in extensively for half-tone illustrations, but his failure to make a financial success of the publication had necessitated a cutting down of expenses wherever possible, and now pictures were seldom used in the pages of the Bulletin.

When Carroll informed Neilson that he would have to dispense with his services, candidly telling him the reason, the engraver proposed that he be permitted to take in outside job work in lieu of salary.

This arrangement had turned out satisfactorily for both parties concerned. Neilson had managed to get enough outside work to make it worth his while to stay, and Carroll was glad to have him on the job, because, although he had practically given up illustrations, he occasionally found it necessary to use a cut in the pages of the Bulletin. These occasions were so rare, however, that great was Neilson’s surprise when, on the day following Hawley’s night crusade against the Oldham police, Carroll appeared in the photo-engraving department with a half dozen negatives in his hand.

“Here, Ole,” the proprietor of the Bulletin said, with a smile, “I want these enlarged, and a two-column cut made from each. Make just as good a job of them as you can, and remember that they’re for to-morrow morning’s issue.”

“All for to-morrow morning’s issue?” exclaimed the engraver incredulously.

“Sure thing! And all for the front page, too.” Carroll chuckled. “It’s going to be the bulliest front page the Bulletin has ever had, Ole. Just take a close look at those negatives, old man, and I guess you’ll understand why.”

Neilson stared hard at the small oblongs of film. “They ban look like policemens,” he said.

“They are policemen!” declared Carroll, with another chuckle.

“What you ban going to do,” the engraver inquired, “get out a special cop’s edition?”

“A sort of special cop’s edition,” replied Carroll, with a grin. “But, say, Ole,” he added anxiously, “what do you think of these negatives from a photographic standpoint? Will they make pretty good cuts, do you think?”

Neilson inspected each one critically. “I can’t tell very well, of course, Mr. Carroll, until I see the prints,” he replied, at length. “They ban flash lights, I see; but they look like pretty clear negatives yoost the same. Who took them?”

“A friend of mine from New York.”

“Did he develop them, too?” the photo-engraver inquired. “They ban a pretty good job for an amateur.”

“Yes, he developed them himself,” Carroll answered. “We were so anxious to see what results we had that we came back here at three o’clock this morning, and Hawley—my friend from New York, I mean—used your dark room. But, say, Ole,” he exclaimed anxiously, pointing to one of the negatives, “how about this one? It isn’t quite as clear as the others. Do you think you’ll be able to get a fairly good cut out of it?”

Neilson once more inspected the negative designated. It was a snapshot of a group of men playing a game of cards. One of the men wore a police uniform.

“I guess I ban able make it all right,” he said. “It isn’t very strong, but I guess I ban able to touch up the print a bit, and get a good result yoost the same.”

Neilson held up another of the negatives. “This ban best one of the lot,” he announced. “I make extra-good cut of him.”

The picture in question was the snapshot of a man in a police captain’s uniform. A scowl came to Carroll’s face as he gazed upon it.

“I’m glad to hear that, Ole,” he said grimly. “I want an extra-good cut of him. And, by the way, make that one three columns wide instead of two. I’m going to use it in the center of the page.”

Then Carroll went into the editorial rooms, and, seating himself at his desk, began to write rapidly. For two hours he was occupied with his task, and what he wrote seemed to afford him much satisfaction, for at frequent intervals the other occupants of the room heard him chuckle immoderately.

At length the long editorial was finished, and as he gathered the closely written pages together, he exhaled a deep breath.

“Hawley said that the pictures would be the main feature of the Bulletin’s exposé,” he muttered; “and, of course, he was right. No doubt about that. But at the same time I rather think this editorial of mine is going to make quite a hit, too.”

Hawley heartily indorsed this opinion when, a few minutes later, he dropped into the Bulletin’s office, and Carroll showed him what he had written.

“It’s great stuff!” the Camera Chap exclaimed enthusiastically. “Simply immense! I never had any idea that you could sling English as well as that, Fred.”

Carroll flushed with pleasure at his warm praise. “I guess it’s because I feel so strongly on the subject,” he said simply. “A fellow can write so much better, you know, if he really feels what he writes.”

“People who buy the Bulletin to-morrow morning are certainly going to get their money’s worth,” Hawley chuckled. “That editorial alone will be well worth the price of the paper. Your readers ought to paste it in their scrapbooks as a model of satire.”

“Cut out the joshing, old man,” protested Carroll. “If the readers of the Bulletin paste anything in their scrapbooks, it will be those wonderful snapshots of yours. They’re going to create a big sensation, Frank.”

The Camera Chap grinned. “Yes, the snapshots and your editorial combined certainly ought to stir things up. Don’t forget that I’ve bet you a new hat that your circulation figures will be more than doubled to-morrow, Fred.”

“I’ll be quite satisfied to lose the hat,” Carroll chuckled. “And just to show you that I don’t expect to win the bet, let me tell you that I’ve already given orders to my pressroom to print twice the usual number of papers to-morrow.”

“I guess you’re quite safe in doing so,” said the Camera Chap earnestly. “I don’t think you’ll have many copies left on your hands. But how are the pictures getting along, Fred? Have they been made into cuts yet?”

“Neilson is working on them now,” Carroll answered. “Come on up, and we’ll see how he’s progressing.”

Neilson was working on an outside job—a half-tone cut for the letterhead of a local tailor—when they entered his laboratory. Observing this, Carroll was somewhat annoyed. He had asked Neilson to rush the cuts through, and, while he realized that it was the outside work which paid the expenses of the plant, he felt aggrieved that the tailor’s half tone should be given first attention.

“How about that work I gave you?” he inquired sharply. “Started on it yet, Ole?”

The engraver looked at him in astonishment. “How can I start on it until you give me back them negatives?” he exclaimed. “I ban yoost coming down to ask you for them.”

“Give you back the negatives!” the proprietor of the Bulletin repeated, with a puzzled frown. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“I ban talking about those policemen’s negatives you want made into cuts for to-morrow’s paper, of course,” replied Neilson, a trifle nettled. “How can I make the cuts until I get the pictures?”

“But you have the pictures,” Carroll protested. “Didn’t I give them to you?”

“Sure you gave them to me once. But you ban take them back again, didn’t you?” replied the man indignantly.

“I took them back?”

“Sure! At least, you sent the boy for them—which is yoost the same, of course.”

“The boy?” Carroll was beginning to grow uneasy. “What boy?”

“That boy Miggsy, of course,” Neilson replied, now thoroughly out of temper. “What kind of a yoke you ban try to play with me, Mr. Carroll? I ban serious feller, and don’t like foolin’. Didn’t you send that Miggsy up here half an hour ago to say would I please let you have them negatives back right away?”

Carroll’s face suddenly turned pale. “I certainly did not!” he exclaimed excitedly. “I sent no such message. Do you mean to say that Miggsy told you that I sent him?”

“He sure did. He said you needed the pictures to show to somebody, and must have them right away. I ban yust starting to work on them when he came up, but I gave them to him.”

With an exclamation of alarm, Carroll hurried downstairs to the editorial rooms to interview the office boy. The youngster was not in sight.

“Seen anything of Miggsy?” he inquired anxiously of one of the reporters, whose desk was near the door.

“Not lately. The last time I saw him, Mr. Carroll, was half an hour ago, when he went out to do that errand for you.”

“An errand for me?”

“Yes, that’s what he said. He was going out just as I came in, and he seemed to be in a great hurry. I stopped him on the stairway, and jokingly asked him what all the rush was about. He begged me not to delay him, as you had just sent him out on an errand of great importance which had to be attended to immediately.”

Carroll turned to Hawley, who had followed him downstairs. They exchanged glances of consternation.

“What do you make of it?” the proprietor of the Bulletin said hoarsely.

The Camera Chap smiled grimly. “It looks very much as if our young friend Miggsy had gone over to the enemy,” he said.

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” growled Carroll. “I can’t imagine any other reason for his actions. The little ingrate! I’ve been pretty good to that kid. I never thought that he’d do me a trick of this sort.”

He paced the floor nervously, his big fists clenched. “Great grief!” he muttered. “Can it really be possible that all our trouble has been for nothing—that we’re not going to publish those wonderful snapshots, after all?”

Hawley patted his shoulder soothingly. It was in forlorn situations of this sort that the Camera Chap’s sunny disposition showed up to the best advantage.

“Cheer up, old scout!” he said to Carroll. “After all, there’s that corking editorial of yours. Even without the pictures, it’ll make quite a hit in to-morrow’s front page.”

“No, it won’t,” groaned Carroll. “That editorial won’t go on to-morrow’s front page. I might as well tear it up. Don’t you see that I wouldn’t dare publish it without the pictures? Those fellows would sue me for libel. They’d swear that my statements were false, and, without the photographic evidence, I couldn’t prove that they weren’t.”

“I guess you’re right there,” said the Camera Chap thoughtfully. “It’s too bad that that fine piece of writing should go to waste. Well, better luck next time, I—— Where are you going, Fred?” For Carroll, muttering something under his breath, had stepped hastily toward the door.

“I’m going down to the pressroom to cancel that order for extra papers,” the proprietor of the Bulletin explained gloomily.

TO BE CONTINUED.

WORSE AND WORSE.

There was a notice in the barber’s shop window reading “Boots Blacked Inside.” A pedestrian halted and read and reread the notice, and then opened the door and said:

“That ought to be shoes. Not one man in fifty wears boots in the summer.”

The barber didn’t say anything, but, after due reflection, concluded that the man was right, and so changed the notice to read: “Shoes Blacked Inside.” He had scarcely put it up when the same man came along again and opened the door to say:

“No one wants the inside of his shoes blacked. We pay to have the shine on the outside.”

The barber puzzled over it for a while, and realized that the man was right again, and next day the notice was replaced by one reading:

“The outside of shoes blacked inside.”

“That’s perfectly correct,” said the fault finder, as he came along in the afternoon. “Never give yourself away on the English language.”