Evening star. [volume], July 21, 1940, Page 4, Image 74

About Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972

Image provided by: Library of Congress, Washington, DC

                
She looked at him a* if he were a hole in a sock.
“Here's my police card," she said. ‘Ask him fo/ his
WORKING PRESS
The new Managing Editor had a creed. It was that cretonne curtains
and girl reporters just didn't belong in any newspaper office. But
Holly Brown, girl reporter, had other ideas . . . and applied them fast
by Richard Powell
Illustrated by O. F. Schmidt
A Short Story Complete in This Issue
★ ★ ★
Holly Brown came into the city room of
the Philadelphia Evening Express with
a Spring-cleaning bounce to her step.
During her two weeks’ vacation the room had
taken on a dreadful masculine untidyness. It
needed a woman’s touch. She tingled with
pleased horror, like a wife returning from a
trip and finding dishes piled in the sink.
Typewriter ribbons had been pounded into
black lace. Rewrite men were dropping paper
on the floor instead of into wastebaskets.
There were new cigarette scars on the desk
she shared with one of the other general
assignment reporters. As for Andy Struthers,
the City Editor —
She marched to his desk and said accus
ingly: “Andy, your face is yellow. You’ve
been grabbing a coke and a sandwich at your
desk instead of taking a proper lunch hour.”
"Hiyuh, Holly. Good vacation? Yeah, I’ve
been skipping lunch hour. But we have a new
Managing Editor and — ”
“So I heard. McCready Hale. The man who
wrote ‘Spot News.’ That’s no reason for not
taking care of yourself. And now that I’m
back — ” She paused. Andy was looking at
her very queerly. “You are glad I'm back,
aren't you?”
His fingers hammered an invisible type
writer. After a moment he asked, Ever
thought of getting married?”
“No. Why?”
“Just asking. Girl like you ought to have a
lot of guys forming a line to the right. Some
dames, now, they don't look good unless you
print their picture with 120 screen on smooth
paper. But a kid like you, bright hair and
nice clean features, comes out swell in half
tone with our lousy 60 screen. I often thought,
if the ship-news boys would only get more
girls like you posing on the rail, they’d — ’’
She laughed. “You sound as if you’re getting
ready either to marry me or fire me.”
"Neither, Holly. Have you read Hale’s
book?”
“No.”
He brought out a copy of “Spot News,”
found a marked passage and read: “Women
reporters and cretonne curtains have no place
in a city room. The working press must be
hard-boiled and sometimes unscrupulous —
two qualities that women are more likely to
exhibit in married life than in business.”
“Andy, he's wrong! I don’t mean me. I’m
no good, but Kate Johns is one of the best
police reporters in the city.”
He said crisply, “Fired.”
“And and Mary Anne Bowman — ”
“Fired.”
“Without a chance to show him what they
can do?”
“He calls it a chance. He brought his pet
cobra over from New York with him. A guy
named Bill Reardon. He sent Kate and Mary
Anneoutontest assignments against Reardon.
This guy is on to every dirty trick invented
since Gutenberg started cutting type, and — ”
“And I’m next?”
He nodded miserably. “He left word to
send you in.”
She walked into the Managing Editor’s
office, feeling as weak as the singed kitten
she had brought back once from covering a
fire. Mr. Hale was thin and his face was
tarnished like old silver. She diagnosed him
immediately as a case of too little home cook
ing. She could hardly resist asking him home
for dinner.
Across the room was a leather chair holding
a tangle of arms and legs. She tried to sort out
the tangle, in her imagination, and got a
young man so big that there must be some
mistake. He had black hair and a scowl.
“I’m Holly Brown,” she said, running a
finger over the desk. It needed dusting.
Hale looked up. “Oh, yes. The young man
across the room is Mr. William Reardon. Why
don’t you get up, Mr. Reardon?”
"Why should I?” Bill growled. “I’m not
ready to leave.”
“I raised him from a cub.” Hale shrugged.
"But now that he's fully grown I may have to
give him to the Zoo.”
“Why should I kid the girl by acting polite?
She knows I’m your hatchet man. Why don’t
you fire her now?”
“He has no sporting sense,” Hale explained.
“No — what are you doing. Miss Brown?’.’
She crumpled her handkerchief. "Your desk
was so dusty that — ”
‘T our job is to collect news, not dust. You
may have heard that I don’t believe there is
a place for women among the working press.
I’m going to let you try to prove me wrong.
Here's an assignment for you and Mr.
Reardon. C.loria Townsend, twenty, of Jason
ville, crashed Hollywood a year ago and has
been featured in a couple of B pictures. She
visits the home town today and will get a
civic welcome."
Bill snapped his pencil point and grumbled,
"Just a second.”
Holly opened her purse. "Here’s an extra
one.” He glared at her and pulled another
pencil from his pocket. She sighed. He was
the first reporter she had ever met who car
ried a spare.
Hale chuckled, "They told me you were a
terribly helpful girl, Miss Brown. But I'm
afraid Mr. Reardon isn't in need of your
talents. He can cook and — ”
“Lay off.” Bill growled.
“ sew and darn stockings and wash
clothes. He's independent of women.”
She looked pityingly at the black-haired
giant. He must be very unhappy having to
do all those things for himself. She wished he
would growl again. His voice tingled through
her like the rumble of trolley wheels in a
tunnel.
Hale continued: “You and Mr. Reardon
will cover this story independently. Each will
phone to a different rewrite man I will com
pare the stories.”
"Then he’ll fire you,” Bill snapped.
Hale ignored him. "This is a trivial assign
ment. Miss Brown. Probably there won't even
be any other city reporters present. But if
you cover it properly, your job is safe. The
Townsend girl arrives in Jasonville by train
at 10:30 this morning. That’s all.”
Shf. turned toward the door. There was a
noise behind her like a football team going
downfield at the kickoff, and Bill charged out
ahead of her. She collected her hat and coat,
paused to lend the slot man on the copy desk
her bottle of aspirin, and then went out to her
car.
Jasonville was thirty miles from Philadel
phia. By 10:15 she had covered twenty-five
miles, and calculated that she would arrive
just in time. She twisted her coupe around a
curve and saw a boy thumbing toward Jason
ville. She stamped on the brake pedal.
"Gee, thanks,” he said, climbing in. "Didn't
think I’d ever get a lift. Only car going by in
the last ten minutes wouldn’t stop. Fellow in
a yellow roadster. He nearly run me down.”
"Was he young? Black hair?"
"Uh-huh. You know him?”
"We’re reporters. We’re covering Gloria
Townsend’s visit.”
“I’m going in town to see her too. She
taught school a year. They give us a holiday.
There won’t be anything open in Jasonville
but the First National Bank and the post
office. Jimmy’s father was going to take a
bunch of us in but his car broke down. Do
you think maybe we could stop by for him?”
"I'm afraid I haven’t time.”
"Jimmy’ll feel awful bad not making it.”
She glanced at his sad eyes, and was lost.
"We-ell, but just this one stop.”
It was astonishing how many small boys a
coupe would hold, she thought. There seemed
to be four inside with her and as many more
on the running board. They were Jimmy and
Elmo and Bob and Shorty and some others
she couldn’t remember. It was 10:40, she was
still four miles from Jasonville and she had to
drive slowly.
"She’s a reporter,” her first passenger an
nounced. Two heads poked in the window.
"Like in the movies?”
“There’s another reporter ahead of her.
They're trying to beat each other.”
“Not exactly,” Holly said. "You see we’re
both from — ” A half-dozen voices protested.
They assured her that in the movies all
reporters spent their time beating each other.
They spent the rest of the trip telling her how
it was done.
As she had expected, the Jasonville railroad
station was nearly deserted. The baggage mas
ter said that the Townsend girl had been
taken on a parade that would last, maybe, a
half-hour. Then everybody was going to a
reception at Borough Hall.
Her passengers scattered to hunt the parade
while she tried to pick up more details. She
was worried. Getting to an assignment late
wouldn’t have mattered if other city papers
had been covering the story. Rival reporters
were always helping her, and friends popping
up unexpectedly with news. But she didn't
have any friends here.
She drove along the main street, looking for
a pay telephone sign. All the stores were
closed, and the guard at the bank told her
that the only pay phones open were in
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