The Stolen Story
tired. It was like asking a man to run just one more lap at the end of a mile race. He said, in a hurt tone, "I've covered the story, I think."
Stone knew that in a moment more he might realize everything. An inspiration came to him. "Why, see here, Woods, why don't you round up your story with some detailed personal history of the people concerned and" He was stopped by a gleam that suddenly came into Woods's face.
"Say, Mr. Stone," said the reporter, reaching up and running his hand through his hair—and now his tone was tense and eager once more—"I've just done that, but I'll tell you: A few sticks about similar attempts in the past would be good stuff. Here, give me some copy-paper. Dan, run and get me the back files of the Tribune for the years—here, I'll write 'em down—there, for those years. Be quick about it." Woods was a born reporter.
Hurrying back to his desk again, and looking happy, he began throwing off sheets of copy with one hand, holding open an old
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