stairs. As he passed the door of the local room, he noticed that the
reporters had not gone home, but were sitting about on the tables and
chairs, waiting. They looked up inquiringly as he passed, and the city
editor asked, "Any news yet?" and the managing editor shook his head.

The compositors were standing idle in the composing-room, and their
foreman was talking with the night editor.

"Well," said that gentleman, tentatively.

"Well," returned the managing editor, "I don't think we can wait; do
you?"

"It's a half-hour after time now," said the night editor, "and we'll
miss the suburban trains if we hold the paper back any longer. We
can't afford to wait for a purely hypothetical story. The chances are
all against the fight's having taken place or this Hade's having been
arrested."

"But if we're beaten on it--" suggested the chief. "But I don't think
that is possible. If there were any story to print, Dwyer would have
had it here before now."

The managing editor looked steadily down at the floor.

"Very well," he said, slowly, "we won't wait any longer. Go ahead," he
added, turning to the foreman with a sigh of reluctance. The foreman
whirled himself about, and began to give his orders; but the two
editors still looked at each other doubtfully.