GETTING OUT THE PAPER.

Stratford Evening Post, Volume XXXV, Issue 9, 9 January 1913, Page 3

GETTING OUT THE PAPER.

It was a marvellous paper, old “Bell’s Life in London,” and my experience of the way it used to shake itself together after mid-night, evolving its order out of chaos, conjuring up news from the black void of the rio-whither and always coming up at the finish, like Smiley’s horse, “apawing and a-snorthing, and a-kick-ing up more dust,” just in time to boat disaster on the post—this experience taught me the valuable journalistic lesson that nothing is impossible. The editor was a host in himself. We went to press at 1.110 a.m. At 1 a.m. 1 have seen him followed by “The Bounder,” stalk into the office with a cheery, confident smile on his rod face, and ask blandly— “Now, Mr Tucker, where are we, eh ? On a lee shore? General sport done?” “No, sir,” with a reproachful glance at “The Bounder,” who stood as solidly wooden as Magog. “Not done! Very well, a special article on ‘Practice of the Crews from the Tow-path,’ eh?”

“No, sir. Fact is, Hauling road such a beastly condition, sir—thought perhaps if you sent Bounder with me in the morning—make special fea>ture,” all in a breath from the Cackler.

“H’m, not done. Ah, Mr Hall!” (to the master printer, who stood sim-

mering with rage), “how are we, eh?” with a twinkle and a smile. “Standing for copy, sir—standing. Th ree or four columns short, sir. Miss our trains as sure as eggs. For heaven’s sake, sir!” “Ha! ha! ha'. For heaven’s sake, eh? Didn’t know they read ‘Bell’s Life’ up there. Ha! ha! ha! Eh? Wish to God they’d buy it down here. Ha! ha! ha! Well, gentlemen, to work, eh ? Phew !’’ When the editor swelled his chest and emitted this singular puffing or blowing sound we knew it was the signal to clear the decks for action. Smiling and ready we strolled up for orders. “Phew! Mr Bounder, your pen of the ready writer, eh ? Phew! I’ll dictate—ah—Bleys—eh? Mr Tucker, be so good as to—ah—get me ‘Truth,’ ‘World,’ ‘Echo,’ ‘Pink ’Tin,’ and ah Phew! Scissors and paste. And —ah—Mr Nunquam, will, I’m sure—ah—facile pen—ah—special descriptive, crews at practice—ah—from towpath—ah—facts from ‘Evening Standard.’ Phew! “Now, Mr Bounder—’Although the Kingsclere colt shows rather more daylight under him than a strict connoisseur might wish—damn this paste —all lumps—where’s the ‘Echo?’ (Snip, snap, dab, dam, dab). Ah—still, being sweet about the hocks, and filled with the—‘Pink ’TJn,’ please —blood of mighty sires—here, MiHall, are the three first pars—general sport (snip, snap, dab, dab) —he might be expected to show a clean pair of heels to more than one crack—if, indeed, he does not prove himself (snip, snip, snap) finest horse Victorian era. Phew! (Dab, dab.) Ask Mr Hall how much general sport. “Thus, dictating his racing article, and clipping out original pars from general sport at the same time, would this truly great man steer, work, and captain his ship off the rocks, night after night, in less than 30 minutes. —Robert i Blatchford.