Rensselaer Journal, Volume 11, Number 3, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 June 1901 — The Fire Edition. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Fire Edition.

By VICTOR A. HERMANN. fCopyright, 1901, by Dally Story Pub. Co.) AU was excitement in the reportortal room. Outside, on either side of the Times iron building, a dozen structures were crumbling in the mighty grasp of the fire warrior. It was the worst conflagration since the memorable south-side blaze. At any moment those at the night desk might hare to throw down their pencils and rush down to the smoke choked thoroughfare. Ezra Spease; the city editor, came out of his little office just as the walls of White’s cracker factory tumbled la With a muffled roar. “Whew! Getting pretty close, boys, but I guess we can stand it” “Old Spease” was on friendly terms' with everyone, from the “devil” to the associate editor. Then the old man walked over to the window. The vast columns of smoke and the reddened sky made an exaggerated spectacle; one could have sworn the whole city was doomed. Only a Mazing mass of ruins marked the spot where the 10-story cracker factory had towered a few hours before. Aa the city editor looked a thin thread of red flame wound itself up toward the drying room of the furniture house. A few moments later the Inflammable interior was a seething furnace. A lone fireman stood on the roof; his nozzle pouring a continuous stream through the skylight. At times ho appeared to be enveloped in a sea of flame, only to emerge like some invincible fire god. “Whew I That’s grit clear through. Where’s Scott? Covering insurance? All right; send Fairbanks.” Fairbanks threw down his dipping Shears and come forward. “Do you see that fireman on the roof? Well, not one man in a hundred would stay up there a minute' Tou are pretty fair at this sort of work; run pff a little incident We’ll need all the space available for the next few days, but it’ll come in good on Sunday.” Fairbanks was already making entries in his book, but the next instant a mixture of charred wood and water rattled the glass so menacingly that the two moved away. A pronounced odor of burning varnish penetrated the building and started then all coughing. "There’s money In that varnish,” said the city editor, thoughtfully. Then the opaque door of his little office was ciesed behind him. And the men on the desk continued to wield their heavy pencils. Two objects were foremost In their minds;

Th* Old Man Grasped the Lever. to get down all possible, or desert the building—the latter only when ordered. The only Idle man In the big room was Winters. He stood drying his feet by the radiator, and frowning at the smiling piece of Italian statuary that embellished the spare desk. An unsnooessful journey In a leaky boat will ruffle even a newspaper man. Pbeeently old Speaae's head appeared la the doorway. **Ym men on the deskl Chop toe toretgn nows in half; dent let a Hue «t eaahaage matter la. Wo must hare ttm more ettwsae tor the Are." Ami the doer afflsin banged. The beat of the Hase wee beeemdng amvantva. Wtateaa ramived hta eaat. ooase of the Others begun to ftaaMe vtto toeto eo-noa The cbm*

,of a blistered pane brought the city editor out. “Hotter aud hotter, boys. Well, It’s lucky this building is iron.” But he began to feel a little nervoua In spite of himself. Showers of burning wood began to fall around the windows, while the roaring increased until it drowned even the dull throb of the engines. A fireman stuck his head in the door. “The chief says you’d better come down —it’s risky.” “Did the chief say we must desert the building?” “Well, not exactly those words, but he did say it was dangerous to stay up here another minute.” “Well, tell the chief when he orders

us to leave the building we’ll obey. The Times hasn't dropped an issue since the day it started, and 1 hardly think It will do so now.* The fireman walked away and the city editor stopped at the speaking tube. „ “Hello! Who Is the pressroom?” “All of .us,” came the response. “Well, is everything all right? We want to run oft the edition within two hours?” "Everything running, sir; but it’s terribly hot down here." “Same up here, Jim; but I think they’ll have it under control In an hour.” But one hour and then another passed and still the fire raged. The fire laddies had almost deserted the burning district, turning their efforts td the property that lay in the path of the blaze. The big reportorial room was also deserted. Not a pane had weathered the hot blasts that licked the sashes. Sparks swept through the jaggled glass and ignited a heap of exchanges that lay on the spare desk. Dense smoke filled the room and hallway.

The pressroom was a hive of activity. A score of men busied around the Iron monster whose roar would drown even’ the noise outside. The city editor superintended the work from a mailing table. And the red liquid in the little thermometer on the wall crawled past 110. The last cylinder was in its place. Jim grasped the lever, but his hand relaxed and the poor follow dropped to the floor. "It’s the heat,” cried old Spease, springing down to the floor, “up to the air with him!” Then it was the old man’s hand that grasped the lever. The great mass of wheels began to revolve; slowly at first, then increasing until the noise was deafening. A bank of moist papers began to collect at one end. The mighty press was speaking. One —two—throe—five—ten floor; still the old man held the lever open. “Ten thousand copies,” the city editor chuckled, "ton thousand copies.” The men stared at him in admiration. Suddenly, without warning, the wall near the big dynamo began to crumble. “My God I Run for your life—the wall’s coming in!” they cried, scrambling up the Iron stairway. But the elty editor did not bear their warning; his eyes were riveted on the busy wheels. We*vo never skipped an issue. Ten t hones nd copies; ton thousand*’ e o o o e o At daybreak the fire was under control. Ms path had been shocked by the staegtah river on one aide, and a law sAratah of boulevard on the other. R was new that the sahaoated too laddtas took turaa in devouring the sand

wiches and steaming coffee that the nearby hotels sent down. The first light in the east brought thousands e< spectators stumbling over the debrisstrewn thoroughfare. A silhouette against the clear morning sky was the less monument to the fire fiend. It was the only structure standing within a block. "Times Extra! All about the big fire, cries of the newsboys went ringing over the smolding ruins. A man came out of the Times office with a long streamer of black crape. He began entwining it among tne artistic work over the door. "Why, who is that for?" Inquired a reporter from the Star. “That,** and the man spoke with a tremor, “that is for the city

“That Is For the City Editor."