Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 18, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 January 1913 — THE ARCHIE PISCOPAL SCOOP [ARTICLE]

THE ARCHIE PISCOPAL SCOOP

Burgess (we’ll call him) had to do something to redeem himself. Ho had everything in his favor, but ho wouldn’t work. For more than a week the assignment schedule had borne the melancholy memorandum from the chief—“Burgees, no day off for a month.” The man at the desk was vigorously carrying out the mandate, and in addition doing all he could to make it hard work for Burgees. The victim had nothing to say and he was keeping sober. It all started wth a jamboree when the Philadelphia newspaper men invited the gang to come over and be their guests. Two breweries, one liquor house and several wine agents gratuitously and graciously contributed the joy. The jaunt was for one day only, but at least three of the gang were four days getting home. Burgess had been the cut-up of the festivities, and when the time was over refused to go home. He put on evening dress to go to a Ladies* Press Club reception in honor of the visitors, and two days later was found asleep on the beach at Atlantic City, with children building sand figures about him. He still wore evening dress and he couldn’t explain. When he returned to the office he found a harsh reception waiting for him, and only past services saved a dismissal. Then came the no-day-off mandate. He loafed on the day work and if It was a Police Court assignment ho went to a matinee at the burlesque house and trusted to luck and the rest of the gang. Then he was shifted to “emergency,” with a swing from Bp. m. to 4a. m. He was still In bad. Burgess arrived on time one evening, and known only to his innermost self, he had resolved to show them all something. He sat down at his desk, pulled out a drawer, titlted his feet on it and gazed vacantly out of the window. The city broke the reverie. “Say, Burgess!” he yelled; “do you still ride that^ wheel?” “Yes,” said the reporter; "I’ve got it with me now.” “Fine!” replied the city editor. “Jump uptown and get me a picture of this girl who eloped with, her father’s cleric You’ll have no trouble; her family likes notoriety. Only be quick; I want to make a good, big cut for to-morrow.” Purgess went downstairs, jumped on his wheel and started for the picture. On his return trip he was coming along at a lively rate when a darkly clad man suddenly stepped from the curb and right in front of the wheel. In a flash he was on him and wheel, rider and man rolled into the street.' Burgess helped the man to his feet and, recognizing him, felt a cold chill run up and down his back. He apologized and the rundown man accepted it and disappeared in a great mansion at the corner. As he walked away Burgess noticed that he limped and had a few scratches across his check. “Lucky for me,” said Burgess to himself as he rode along, “that bo didn’t have me arrested. They’d never believe that at the office. Burgess turned the picture in and received some more work. At nearly midnight he turned a bunch of copy into the city editor, remarking: “We’ve got that alone.” The city editor read Burgess’ own headlines on the story: ARCHBISHOP FARRELL HURT. Aged Prolate Run Down and Injured in Front of the Archieplscopal Residence by an Unknown Cyclist. Ther/was a three-quarter column story. “Look, Bill,” said the man at the desk, "is this all right? The man who works the district had nothing about it" “Certainly it’s all right,” replied Burgess. "Ton don’t suppose I’d fake a yarn like that?” “Well—but where did you get it?” Burgess leaned over the desk and quietly remarked: "I’m the unknown cyclist” "You don’t say!” exclaimed the oily editor. "Yes,” said Burgees, triumphantly. "Give me a bicycle and a couple of drinks and I’ll make my own nows.” The city editor gave it the marks for double leading and next day’s papers proved that Burgess had scooped the town. It was Tuesday and they gave him Wednesday off.—Now York Morning Telegraph.