The City Editor's Conscience
Now all this was early in the day, before the first edition went to press. The busy, nervous minutes rushed by, the electric fans buzzed, the reporters hurried in and out, the copy-readers' blue pencils wriggled, the typesetting machines clicked, the various editions were run off, the papers were hustled away in wagons and cried on the street, and the strain on Maguire's nerves and temper kept increasing. It was not until the last story was set up, the last head written, the last batch of proofs sent back O.K'd., and the forms were locked up, the plates cast, and the big presses put in motion, with the great rolls of paper revolving, and the printed, folded sheets of the welcome last edition came fluttering down upon the "delivery" at the rate of six hundred a minute, that the city editor had time to take a calm, full breath. Then he stopped looking annoyed, and cooled off from a city editor to a human being. He leaned back in his chair, put his feet on the desk, and smoked luxuriously.
He always leaned back in this way with his feet on the desk when the last edition went to press. Since waking and reaching
171
