LIVELY HOURS lON A SPORTING PAPER.

Ashburton Guardian, Volume V, Issue 1016, 4 December 1883, Page 4

LIVELY HOURS lON A SPORTING PAPER.

v In the building used for the publication of one of the many weekly papers in New York which gives its attention almost exclusively to matters, there is a long passage studded at regular intervals with doors, leading into a Series of connecting rooms. On one of these doors the words “ Sporting Editor” are conspicuously blazoned, and it was through this door that a Tribune reporter recently strode to make certain inquiries of the said Spprting editor, whom he found seated 'ih; a comfortable arm chair before a table heaped high with correspondence which seemed to be chiefly conducted by postal card. The editor’s arm was I ‘bandaged, the editor’s nose boasted a flohg red scar, while over the editor’s eye was an ugly-looking gash only half healed. After the business in hand had been transacted these evidences of bodily suffering naturally drew sundry sympathising and interrogatory remarks from the reporter, and the following interesting' account from the sporting Editor: — “ I tell you,” said he, “ that it ain’t a bit of a joke to be at the head of the sporting department on a paper of the standing of ours. You see these here sports are a rum lot, a very rum lot, and unless a man knows how to handle them he had better order a nicklemounted glass slide oaken casket from the nearest undertaker who’ll supply him on credit. See the wrist o’ mine? Broke in three places. See this conk (pointing to his wounded nose)? Busted by. butt of a gun. See this eye? Chewed almost out of my skull. And that’s only a week’s work. Man come in last Tuesday—no, it was Wednesday —and wanted some bills of a slugging match punted on credit. I sent him to the foreman of the job department. Down be -came an’ says as how the foreman didn’t know him from Adam, an’ hef wanted that printing done right away, ‘an’ would I go bail for him or wpuld I not. I told him I wouldn't, and rbe; somethinged to him. What does he do, but go fur my eye with his teeth, an’ held on like a bull terrier. I pounded him over the head with a paper weight, an’ bimeby in comes my Otns boy,'and between us we boosted him out. . Well, I had a rest till Friday, and then the boy brought word that Teddy Mulhooly, the fighter of the Fourth Ward, was around with a gang to whip me for saying in the paper that Billy Mahoney was ready to meet him in ‘the ring if Teddy could put the money up. I made a jump for my gun, which lay on that shelf, just in time to see Billy put his head inside the dpor. I ran into the next room and out of the door, down the staircase and into the street, with Billy in hot pursuit. Up the street I scooted, till onothc next corner he came up with me along with a couple of friends. Well, to make a long story short, they got me down, broke my wrist, and banged my nose with the butt of a pistol. What did I do ? Well, I blacked'Billy’s left eye, bit half his ear off, broke one of his friend’s collar hone, and kicked the other in the head till he couldn’t see. Oh, I tell you it takes a man of experience to run this department and humor all the patrons of the paper. You’ll, smile ? No! Well, look in whenever you’re passing, and maybe you’ll drop on a bit of fun now and then.” The reporter promised to do so, but secretly jioped no editorial “fun” would be in progress on the occasion of his next visit.