Dawn O'Hara, the Girl Who Laughed by Edna Ferber
page 88 of 271 (32%)
page 88 of 271 (32%)
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never went to school to speak of. He doesn't know was
from were. But he can "see" a story quicker, and farther and clearer than any newspaper man I ever knew--excepting Peter Orme. There is a legend about to the effect that one day the managing editor, who is Scotch and without a sense of humor, ordered that Blackie should henceforth be addressed by his surname of Griffith, as being a more dignified appellation for the use of fellow reporters, hangers-on, copy kids, office boys and others about the big building. The day after the order was issued the managing editor summoned a freckled youth and thrust a sheaf of galley proofs into his hand. "Take those to Mr. Griffith," he ordered without looking up. "T' who?" "To Mr. Griffith," said the managing editor, laboriously, and scowling a bit. The boy took three unwilling steps toward the door. Then he turned a puzzled face toward the managing editor. "Say, honest, I ain't never heard of dat guy. He must be a new one. W'ere'll I find him?" |
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