Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 99, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 April 1915 — HIS SPOILED STORY [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

HIS SPOILED STORY

By H. L. STURTEVANT.

When Walter Tolland was promoted from an ordinary cub reporter to be dramatic critic for the Argus, he naturally felt that his future was assured. To be appointed dramatic critic of a first-class metropolitan newspaper implied a remarkable discernment of his abilities on the part of the managing editor. So he promptly bought Bray’s "How to Be a Dramatic Critic,” and Dugmore’a "The Stage and the Reporter,” pored over them for a few days, and .started out to make a reputation. What the managing editor had actually said to the city editor was: “I’m tired of these quarrels with the theater people. Put some young cub on the job and tell him to give everyone a show in turn.” Tolland went to “The Girl From a Little Town,” and saw at once that, according to the books, Miss Edith Lawrence didn't know the first principles of acting. The show was not much good, anyhow, and he went home and wrote two columns of withering criticism, which the city editor scanned hastily and cut down to a stick and a half. That stick and a half was enough to blast the reputation of the best actress that ever trod Broadway boards. It took Miss Lawrence and tore her to pieces, made pulp of what was left, and scattered that to the four winds of heaven. Everybody who read it grinned. They knew that Tolland would tone down after a while. It was tough on Miss Lawrence, but it couldn’t be helped, and anyway, it was funny. That afternoon Tolland received a special * delivery letter that smelled strongly of musk. It was from Miss

Edith Lawrence. /It merely asked him whether he would favor her with a visit at her apartment that afternoon at five. Tolland accepted the invitation with a sense of dogged duty. He felt that perhaps he had gone a little too far, but still he had the reputation of his newspaper to maintain. And, to be frank, he wanted to explain to her that he had been actuated by no personal malice. The case was simply this, Miss Lawrence didn’t come up to the standards of Bray and Dugmore. There was a long wait in the handsomely furnished parlor of Miss Lawrence’s flat in the apartment house, but presently Miss Lawrence came in. No, staggered in. She was wearing a blue wrapper with pink flowers on it, in brocaded silk, and her hair was hanging down her back, She staggered across the room and staggered into a chair and collapsed there. ‘T thought you would like to see the result of your work, Mr. Tolland,” she said. “I am very sorry,” murmured the young man, who has not expected anything so painful as this. “But you see, Miss Lawrence, you really did not act in accordance with the true principles of dramatic art. Now, if you had —” “Yes, yes,” she interrupted, in a hollow voice, “but it doesn’t make any difference now, because I shall never act again.” “But, my dear Miss Lawrence,” protested Tolland, “you mustn’t let yourself be so easily discouraged. Now if you will throw more personality into—” “I shan’t have any personality after another half hour,” answered Miss Lawrence. "I’ve taken half a pound Of strychnine.” “What!” yelled the young man, leaping to his feet and staring into the young woman’s face. “I mean half an ounce,” she murmured. “You have killed me, Mr., Tolland. And I hope you will be more charitable in future. I —” Here she collapsed with a heartrending groan. "Quick! A doctor!” she gasped. "O, let me live. Telephone, Mr. Tolland, I must live now. I didn’t know death was so terrible.” ' An instant later Tolland was calling up a couple of physicians he knew, then jtnother, and then another. Aft-

er that he called an ambulance. , It was only then that It occurred to him that it would be advisable for him to make himself as scarce as possible. He hurried out of the apartment house and into the street. Then it occurred to him further that the office would be the best place for him, if he was to avoid suspicion. Accordingly, he made his way thither. But it was desperately lonely in the office, and the warm greeting of the city editor, who had a slack half hour, was too much for him. In a few moments Tolland was confessing everything at the desk, and asking whether he ought to give himself up for murder. "Thunder, no!” answered the city editor. “Don’t you see yoMr duty clear before your eyes, young man?" “No,” gulped Tolland miserably. “Ton go back to tout desk and ‘write out a full account of the suicide for the next edition,” answered the city editor. "But, say! You don’t have to put yourself into it, you know.” And Tolland mußt have had in him the makings of a reporter, because, mechanically taking up his pen, he found himself presently launching into a human interest story describing the suicide of the famous actress. It was only when he had finished that he realized the depths of degradation to which he had fallen. He took the manuscript oyer to the desk. “I’ve done it —but it mustn’t be published, Mr. Renn,” he said. “I’d lose my position. "I —” gulp, gulp, “I’m going to the police to give myself up.” Mr. Renn, without Answering, read the article. As he read it he slapped his leg and chuckled. When he came to the last words Miss Lawrence had uttered, in which she begged to be saved, he laid the manuscript down and burst into a loud guffaw. And Tolland stared at the monster speechlessly. Could it be a human being who saw in such a terrible death of a young and gifted woman nothing but a news story?

Suddenly Renn handed back the story. “It’s all right; we won’t print it, Tolland,” he said. “But it’s for your sake, understand. Anyhow, it’s too late. Here come the editions of the other papers. Let’s see what they have to say about It.” _ They scanned the headlines on the first page of each of the evening newspapers, on the second, the third, and so right through to the end. But there was not a word about Miss Lawrence’s suicide. “Humph! I guessed they wouldn’t fall for it,” said Renn. “It takes a very young and immature reporter to fall for a thing like that.” “Do you mean that she was only pretending to have taken strychnine, to get even with me?” gasped Tolland. • “To get even with you? No, my young friend. She wanted to get the story into the newspapers. She saw how verdant you were—or else somebody tipped her oft about you, probably her agent. Lord, Tolland, that was an advertising stunt. Don’t you understand? If that had got into the Argus it would have been equal to fifty such slatings as you gave her. Go to the show again tonight, Tolland, and you’ll see her there as large as life.” Which Tolland did. (Copyright, 1916, by W. G. Chapman.)

"I’ve Taken Half a Pound of Strychnine."