Munroe Kirk
Under Orders: The story of a young reporter

CHAPTER VII.
“NO LOAFERS NOR REPORTERS ADMITTED.”

AS THE young reporter entered the Phonograph office that Monday morning he wondered whether or not his week of trial had been satisfactory. Was he to retain his position, or was he to be politely told that he was a failure, and that the paper had no need of him? The anxiety aroused by the mere thought of such a thing weighed heavily upon him, and he entered the city-room feeling like an accused person when about to hear the verdict that shall either set him free or consign him to a cell. Thus agitated, but setting his teeth and walking bravely forward to meet his fate, Myles was stopped by hearing Mr. Brown say:

“Oh, Mr. Manning, wait a moment, if you please. Here are the keys of a vacant desk and of locker No. 20, that the city editor says you are to have.”

The verdict was rendered, and it was in his favor. He need have no more fears. The week of trial had proved satisfactory to his superior officers, and they had decided that it was safe to place him “under orders.”

“Hurrah for the new reporter and future editor-in-chief of the Phonograph!” he mentally shouted.

To all outward appearance, however, he was as calm as usual, and only the heightened color of his face gave token of his excitement.

Taking the keys from Mr. Brown, and thanking him for them, Myles hung his hat in locker № 20. His locker! Then he found the desk that was to be his, unlocked its empty drawer, opened it, closed it again, and sat down before it to indulge in a daydream of all the fine things he would write at that desk; of the special articles he would prepare, and hide away in that drawer until they should be finished and ready to win for him a name.

These pleasant thoughts were interrupted, and Myles started as a hand was laid on his shoulder, and Rolfe’s cordial voice said:

“Good-morning, Manning. Allow me to congratulate you upon getting a desk. In this office the possession, of a desk is the sign that a man is doing satisfactory work and is looked upon with favor. If, however, at any time Mr. Brown should politely ask you for the key, you might as well resign at once and look for another job, for you would get no more assignments here. It would be the signal of dismissal. I am not afraid for you, though, and I predict that you will hold the key to your present position until you are ready to resign it of your own accord. By the way, what are you going to make your special line of work? Nearly every reporter, while of course always ready to accept any assignment that is offered, has some specialty in which he excels. Some take to politics, detective work, or court reporting, and some to marine work, such as yacht-racing, wrecks, launches, and all things connected with the sea. Others make a specialty of athletic sports, and still others of society events. My own specialty, so far as I can find out that I have one, is, I believe, humoristical. At least I have the wholly undeserved credit of writing humorous stories.”

“I’m sure I can’t imagine what mine will be,” laughed Myles, who felt particularly joyous just at that moment. “I don’t feel that I know much about any thing, unless it is boats and boat-racing.”

Then he confided to Rolfe his desire to witness the great college boat-race at New London, and asked his advice about applying for the assignment.

“Certainly,” replied the other. “Apply for it by all means. Mr. Haxall likes to find out in that way what the fellows are most interested in, and makes a point of giving a reporter the style of work most congenial to his tastes if he possibly can. His theory is that a fellow will do much better if he is interested in his job than he would if it were distasteful to him. Of course it does not happen one time out of ten that a fellow gets the particular assignment that he would prefer; but that is not Mr. Haxall’s fault, and he is always glad to have the preference expressed.”

Thus encouraged, Myles stepped to the city editor’s desk, and, interrupting for a moment the busy work of clipping memoranda from the morning papers, made his request.

Mr. Haxall listened patiently to all that he had to say, and then smilingly answered:

“I am very sorry, Mr. Manning, but that assignment has already been given to Billings. I have, however, another piece of work for you that, I believe, you will do just as well. It is of the utmost importance, and will, I think, interest you greatly. I wish you would set out at once and obtain every possible detail regarding this case.”

Thus saying the city editor handed Myles a paragraph that he had just clipped from a morning paper, and instantly resumed his interrupted work. Myles’ curiosity had been greatly aroused by these remarks, and he imagined that some really important piece of work was about to be confided to him. What was his disgust, then, upon reading the slip as he slowly returned to his desk, to find that it was only a stabbing affray among the Italians of the “Bend,” one of the filthiest slums of the city!

“It is too bad!” he exclaimed to Rolfe, who was waiting to learn the result of his interview. “The idea of giving me such a wretched job as this, and trying to make me think it was such an important one too.”

“Oh no, it isn’t too bad,” laughed Rolfe. “It is only one of the little jokes that Joe delights in, and he will chuckle over it to himself for an hour. But, really, you know that job has to be done by somebody, and he only gave it, impartially, to the first man who happened along, which was you. It would have been just the same if I had gone to him instead of you. He would have given it to me just as quick. Joe has his failings, of course, like the rest of us, and sometimes I get awfully provoked at him; but I must say that I consider him the most absolutely just man I ever knew, and I believe his constant aim is to show perfect impartiality in all his dealings with those under him. That is more than can be said of most city editors.”

So Myles, somewhat comforted by these words, started for the “Bend,” instead of for New London, and passed the greater part of the long hot day amid such scenes of misery as only a great city can disclose. For the next two days also, it seemed as though all the assignments of this nature fell to him. At their end he was soul-sick of the disgusting work he had been called upon to perform, and the desperate wretchedness amid which he had lived. On the third morning, as he entered the office in a dejected frame of mind, wondering what form of human suffering he would have to encounter that day, Mr. Haxall called him and said:

“I believe, Mr. Manning, that you have had some practical experience in college boat-racing.”

“A little, sir,” answered Myles, modestly.

“Well,” continued the city editor, “while Billings is a most admirable descriptive writer, he is not as familiar as I could wish with the details of timing a crew, noting their form, and so forth. I have decided, therefore, to send you to New London to help him out. The race will not take place until the day after to-morrow, but I think you had better run up there to-day so as to be on hand. You will, of course, report to Billings, and here is an order on the cashier for twenty-five dollars for your expenses. If you need any more, Billings will furnish it.”

Myles had so completely dismissed all thoughts of the boat-race from his mind, that had Mr. Haxall offered him the position of managing editor he could hardly have been more amazed than by this assignment. He was, however, rapidly learning to conceal all signs of surprise upon such occasions, and so, answering, “Very well, sir,” he took the order on the cashier and left the office.

An hour later he was rolling out of the Grand Central station on his way to New London, while the scenes amid which he had passed the preceding two days were already fading beneath the influence of pleasant anticipations.

Arrived at New London, he had no difficulty in finding Billings, who, having secured for his own use the finest apartment in the best hotel in the city, was now the centre of an interested group of reporters gathered behind its closed doors.

“Hello, Manning!” cried the generally languid Billings, who now appeared greatly excited. “Come in. You are just in time to take part in our indignation meeting. What do you think the nice little boys of the X – College crew have gone and done?”

“I am sure I don’t know,” replied Myles, flushing at the tone in which his recent mates were spoken of. “I don’t believe, though, that it is any thing to be ashamed of.”

“Isn’t it, though!” cried several voices, while Billings said:

“It is something they ought to be ashamed of if they are not. Why, they actually have had the cheek to put a big sign out in front of their quarters bearing the legend, ‘No Loafers nor Reporters Admitted.’ What do you think of that for impudence, when, if it wasn’t for the press, as represented by us reporters, their little penny races would never be heard of outside of their own little circle of friends? Now, there are plenty of college graduates among us here. We know just how conceited and ‘cocky’ these young fellows feel, and we can make allowances for them, but this is going a little too far. What do you say to it, Manning?”

With face as red as fire, but with a brave, honest look in his eyes, Myles stood up and said:

“I expect I am responsible for this insult, gentlemen, and right here I wish to apologize for it, both on my own account and in behalf of the crew of which I was so recently the captain.”

Here there was a slight movement of surprise among the other reporters, most of whom were strangers to Myles, and they regarded him curiously.

“Yes,” he continued, “I was captain of the X – College crew, and I suggested that, on coming here this year, we put up some such notice as that of which Billings speaks. I did so in utter ignorance of what sort of fellows the majority of reporters are, and because last year’s crew was greatly bothered by one who made himself a perfect nuisance. He hung about the quarters all the time, patronized the boys, undertook to tell them that their style of rowing was entirely wrong, and tried to have them change it to suit his ideas. Above all, his reports, as published and widely copied, were so filled with absurdities and falsehoods regarding the crew as made them a laughing-stock for the community. I do not see him here this year, and I am glad of it, but, for fear he would be, I suggested putting up that notice, because we did not know how to exclude one reporter without making a rule that should apply to all. I am sorry now that I ever made such a suggestion, and still more so that my successor has seen fit to carry it out. If you fellows will only have a little patience, and not send any thing to your papers about this matter before my return, I will go out to the quarters and see what influence I can use to have that notice removed.”

“Good enough!” exclaimed Billings. “You have spoken out like a gentleman, Manning, and I think I can answer for every reporter here by saying that we accept your very handsome apology for your share in this unfortunate business. We will also give you the chance you ask for, to exert your influence toward having the thing taken down, before we begin to make it unpleasant for them in the papers; won’t we, fellows?”

“Of course we will,” was the almost unanimous reply.

There was, however, one fellow mean enough to slip unnoticed out of the room and telegraph the whole affair to his paper, laying all the blame upon poor Myles, whom he spoke of as having repented when it was too late. For this act he was afterward kicked off the press-boat by the other reporters, and so lost his chance of seeing the race.

In the meantime Myles and Billings hurried from the hotel, engaged a horse and buggy, crossed the ferry to the Groton side of the river, and drove rapidly up the pleasant country road along its eastern bank to the X – quarters.

As they drew up in front of the roomy farmhouse that Myles remembered so well, he sprang out and found himself face to face with his old rival, Ben Watkins. Ben, who was now captain of the crew, was walking toward the front gate, above which was displayed the cause of all the trouble.

“How are you, Ben?” said Myles, cordially, as he stepped toward the gate with the intention of entering.

“Ah, Manning, that you?” answered the other in a constrained tone. “Glad to see you – that is,” he added, hesitatingly, “if you come as a friend.”

“As a friend?” questioned Myles in amazement, stopping outside the gate, against which Watkins now leaned in such a manner as to prevent its being opened. “What can you mean? How else could I come to the quarters of the X – College crew?”

“Oh, well,” replied Watkins, a little uneasily, “I heard you had gone on to some paper, and I didn’t know but what you came as a reporter.”

“So I do come as a reporter, as well as a friend of X – ,” replied Myles, whose voice trembled a little, though he tried to speak calmly and naturally. “I have been sent here to help report this race for the Phonograph. But what difference does that make?”

“A great deal,” answered Watkins; “for I don’t see how we can break through that rule” – here he pointed to the notice above their heads – “even in your case.”

“Do you mean to say that, merely because he has become a reporter, you refuse to admit to these grounds the man who was captain of this crew only two weeks ago?” cried Myles, hotly.

“That’s about the size of it. If we exclude one reporter we must exclude all. Those, I believe, were your own words. I’m sorry, but it wouldn’t do, you know, to let friendship interfere with business.”

“If I acknowledge that I was a fool when I made that speech, if I tell you that this miserable notice is one of the biggest mistakes you could possibly make, and beg you, for the sake of the college and of the crew, to take it down, won’t you do it?” asked Myles.

“No; I don’t think we will. Of course it is natural for you to think that way now. Perhaps I would in your place; but, as I have not the motive that you have to change my opinion of reporters, I rather think we will let the notice remain where it is, and act up to it.”

“Then,” replied Myles, whose hot temper was rapidly escaping from his control, “all I have to say is that, in putting up this notice, you made a fool of yourself, and in keeping it up you not only disgrace yourself but the college you represent.”

“And in reply to such a very friendly speech I would remark that when a fellow, pretending to be a gentleman, relinquishes those pretensions and becomes a reporter, he has descended to the level for which nature intended him,” retorted Watkins.

“If it were not for breaking up the crew on the eve of a great race, I’d make you apologize for those words, Ben Watkins!” cried Myles.

“You can’t do it, and you dare not try,” was the mocking answer.

Myles had so completely lost control of himself by this time, that he would have answered this taunt by something much more forcible than words, and undoubtedly Ben Watkins would have had cause to regret arousing the wrath of the young athlete before whom the best men in the X – gymnasium had been unable to stand up; but just then a soft hand was laid on the young reporter’s shoulder, and Billings’ languid voice drawled out:

“Let the poor fellow go, Manning. He will hurt himself more than you can hurt him in the long run.”

Myles allowed himself to be persuaded, and in another minute the two reporters were driving rapidly back toward the city.

“It is too bad,” said Myles, presently, “that your chance of getting a description of the crew, and how they live in training, and of the boat, should be knocked in the head by that fellow’s stupidity.”

“Oh, I’ll get all that to-morrow,” was the careless reply.

“But they won’t admit you.”

“I guess they will, and tell me all I want to know, and show me every thing I want to see. I shouldn’t wonder if they even invited me to go out with them in their boat – and I’ll do it too.”

“Whatever can you mean?” asked Myles.

“Wait until to-morrow and I’ll show you the trick,” said Billings.

CHAPTER VIII.
“LORD STEEREM,” THE COXSWAIN

BILLINGS charged his companion to say nothing of the scheme for playing a trick upon Ben Watkins that his fertile brain was busily hatching, and Myles promised that he would not. It was easy to keep this promise, seeing that he had no idea what the scheme was, for the other did not divulge his plans, and Myles was left to imagine what he pleased. He was, of course, obliged to announce to all the other reporters his failure to have the obnoxious notice removed, and they at once began to prepare indignant dispatches to their respective papers concerning it.

In the meantime, leaving Myles in his room at the hotel writing a detailed description of the X – crew, their boat, style of rowing, etc., which, of all the reporters, he alone was able to do, Billings was flying about the city and displaying an amount of energy wonderful to behold in one of his temperament. At the same time his movements were veiled with such secrecy that no one for a moment suspected what he was up to. He visited a milliner’s, where he procured a quantity of broad black ribbon and a yard or two of blue silk. All this he took to, and left with, a local artist, with whom he held a short consultation.

He next went to a certain wharf, at which lay a handsome, saucy-looking, steam launch, just arrived from New York. As the press-boat, in which it was intended that all the newspaper men should follow the race, was notoriously slow, and it was certain she would not get within half a mile of the finish, the Phonograph had provided this swift craft for the especial use of its own reporters. This had been kept a secret, and no one, except Billings and the captain of the launch, knew to whom she belonged or why she was there.

After a talk with this captain, that seemed to afford the latter much amusement, Billings engaged a row-boat and was pulled off to one of the many fine yachts lying in the harbor. While he was gone the captain of the launch called his engineer and the two men who formed his crew, and took them to a hat-store in the town.

Billings spent an hour on board the yacht. When he left he carried a bundle of something, and his face expressed the liveliest satisfaction. He took this bundle to his elegant apartment in the hotel, and then sat down with Myles to prepare his dispatch. After writing steadily for more than an hour with his usual marvellous rapidity, he read to his companion an article on the X – crew and its recent action, so bright and witty, and placing them in such a ridiculous light, that at its conclusion the latter was sore with laughter.

When the New York papers reached New London the next morning, which was that of the day before the great race, the Phonograph immediately became so popular that its entire edition was quickly sold at more than double the usual price. In it Billings’ humorous article on the X – College men set everybody to laughing. Myles’ detailed description of all the crew had done, and hoped to do, was proof to the public that their exclusion of reporters had failed of its intended object. Besides this, the Phonograph contained another exclusive bit of news that excited a lively interest. It was only a paragraph, and read as follows:

“It is reported that Lord Steerem, of England, the famous Oxford coxswain, may be expected to reach New London to-day. His lordship, who is about to cruise in American waters in his splendid steam yacht Happy Thought, takes the liveliest interest in our ‘Varsity’ boat-racing. He has expressed such an ardent desire to witness the event of to-morrow that he will probably come directly to this place before touching at any other American port. Of course the college men assembled here are full of curiosity to meet so able an authority on all matters pertaining to boat-racing, and he will undoubtedly be warmly welcomed at the head-quarters of the respective crews.”

The reporters of the other papers, in which this interesting item had not appeared, besieged Myles and Billings for further information regarding his lordship and his expected arrival. As neither of them had any to give, their questioners gradually dispersed, each determined to be the first to secure an interview with the distinguished foreigner. Some of them went down the harbor in row-boats, and others haunted the wharves, while some even drove down to the Pequot House, on the chance that the English yacht might stop there before proceeding up the river. They were all doomed to disappointment; for up to two o’clock nothing had been seen of the Happy Thought.

It had been arranged that at this hour the press-boat, taking such reporters as wished to go, should steam up the river for a last look at the course and the quarters in which the crews were spending a day of idleness and complete rest. At two o’clock, therefore, all the reporters ceased for a time to watch for the English yacht, and hastened aboard the press-boat, each being afraid to stay behind lest the others might get hold of something he would be sorry to miss.

At Billings’ suggestion Myles went with the rest, but his fellow-worker remained behind, claiming that he had important business to attend to. He began to attend to it, with an activity that would have amazed his companions had they been on hand to witness it, the moment he was left alone.

While he was thus busy the press-boat, with its load of jolly passengers, steamed slowly and heavily up the river. After half an hour of laborious puffing and snorting, as it drew near the head of the course and came within sight of the quarters, somebody on board called out:

“Hello! Here’s a lively little fellow coming up behind us. It must be a launch from one of the big yachts.”

All eyes were instantly directed toward the slender craft that, with polished brass-work gleaming in the bright sunlight, and gay colors flying at stem and stern, was overhauling them so rapidly that they seemed to be anchored. The curiosity with which they watched its approach was changed to incredulous amazement as it shot past them, and they could decipher the private signal that fluttered above its bows. It was a burgee of blue silk on which in letters of gold they read the name Happy Thought. The same name appeared on the black bands encircling the jaunty straw hats of its crew. Could Lord Steerem have arrived? It must be so. Yes, there was the flag of the Royal Yacht Squadron flying from the after jack-staff, and, in the glass-encased pilot-house they caught a fleeting glimpse of a slight, dark-mustached figure, clad in yachting uniform.

That must be Lord Steerem himself. But how could he have given them the slip? How aggravating that he should have arrived just at this time.

“Hurry up, captain! Crowd on steam, engineer! Never mind your boiler. We mustn’t lose sight of this fellow now. The whole country is anxious to learn of his movements. Who is he? Why, a swell from over the water. An English lord. An Oxford coxswain. The most important personage to arrive in America for many a day!”

So the press-boat puffed and labored harder than ever, while the excited reporters crowded forward in their anxiety not to lose sight of the swift launch cleaving the waters ahead of them like an arrow. They bore the bow of their boat deep into the water and lifted her stern high in the air in their eagerness to secure the best places from which to see, and the poor old craft almost came to a stand-still. Still they yelled: “Faster – faster, captain! Pile on your steam, engineer!”

At last the dainty launch dashed up in front of the X – College boat-house. Her engine was stopped, reversed, and she lay motionless beside the float. Then a slightly built figure in glittering uniform stepped from her and sauntered toward a group of the crew who were watching him curiously.

From them Ben Watkins, the captain, stepped forward, and to him the stranger handed a card bearing a gorgeous crest and the inscription “Lord Steerem, Brasscheek College, Oxford.”

Ben had read the morning Phonograph and knew this distinguished arrival was expected, but to have the honor of his first visit was almost too good to be true. It was overwhelming, and he hardly knew how to frame a proper speech of welcome.

“I am sure we are very glad to see you – that is, I mean you have done us a great honor, Mr. – I mean your lordship. Will you step up and look at our quarters?” he finally managed to say.

Ben Watkins was a splendid oarsman; nobody could deny that, but he was nothing of a society man, and to have a real live lord on his hands was almost too much for him.

“Aw, yes,” replied Lord Steerem, with a most affected drawl. “Don’t care if I do. Queer old crib of a place, though.”

“Yes, it is pretty bad,” Ben hastened to answer, though until that moment he had thought the X – quarters about as comfortable as they could be made. “We have hard work to put up with them, and shall probably build a club-house of our own before next year. I suppose your quarters on the English Thames are very fine, Mr. – I mean Lord Steerem?”

“Aw, yes. Each crew there has a castle to itself, you know. But, I say,” – here his lordship carefully adjusted a single eye-glass, making an awful face in his efforts to keep it from dropping off – “what a beastly queer go that is, don’t you know!”

He had stopped and was staring at the notice over the front gate.

“You don’t mean to tell me that those cads from the noospapers actually try to force their way in here?”

“Oh, yes, we are bothered to death with them,” replied Ben. “Don’t you find the same trouble on the other side?”

“Aw, no. We keep a lot of bobbies on hand, and any noospaper fellah would be arrested at once if he came anywhere near the quarters. It would make the whole thing too beastly common, don’t you know, if we should let ’em find out every thing about us before the race.”

Ben was somewhat staggered by this; but of course his lordship must know what he was talking about, so he only said: “I wish we could do the same over here,” at the same time knowing very well that he did not wish any such thing.

Lord Steerem was shown all over the quarters; he inspected the racing-shells in the boat-house, was introduced to the other fellows, some of whom did not seem to think so much of the honor as did Ben Watkins, and finally expressed a desire to see the crew take a short spin on the river, that he might compare American with the English style of rowing.

This request was of course granted, and when the shell was in the water and the men had taken their places, Captain Watkins asked as a great favor that the famous coxswain would go with them and steer.

“Aw, yes, with pleasure,” replied his lordship. “Am a little rusty, of course, but I may be able to give you a pointer or two, don’t you know!”

The crew did not think that the imported coxswain steered as well as their own, who had been left behind. He also found so much fault with the boat, and criticised their manner of rowing so sharply, that the spin was cut short, and within ten minutes they were back at the float.

All this time the press-boat had hovered near, and its passengers had taken full notes of these proceedings for the long articles they intended to write concerning them. It seemed to Myles Manning that the noble coxswain was an awful duffer at the business of steering a racing-shell. He wished Billings were there to enjoy the performance with him; but he held his tongue and saw all that he could.

Lord Steerem noticed the curiosity that his appearance seemed to excite on the press-boat, and he now asked who those “fellahs” were.

“Oh, they are only a lot of reporters,” answered Ben Watkins, carelessly. In his heart he was glad enough to feel that the press of the whole country was certain to be informed of the honors being showered upon him and his crew by this visit of a foreign nobleman.

“Aw, by the way!” exclaimed his lordship, with a sudden effort of memory, “where’s Manning? I heard before I left the other side that your captain’s name was Manning, don’t you know!”

“Manning? Oh, he has left college, and gone on some paper or other as a reporter,” answered Ben Watkins. “I shouldn’t wonder if he was out there on that boat now,” he added, with the expectation that his lordship would be so disgusted at this intelligence as to take no further interest in Manning.

To his amazement Lord Steerem expressed great pleasure at learning that the person for whom he had inquired was so near at hand. He even went so far as to say that, from all he had heard on the other side, he believed Manning to be the only man in this country who really knew how to row. Then, declaring that their late captain was the person of all others whom he particularly wished to meet, he bade his entertainers a curt farewell, and, springing aboard his launch, ordered the captain to run out to the press-boat.

As this craft was but a short distance from the X – float, a few turns of the screw sent the launch alongside of her, and its captain inquired if a gentleman named Manning was on board.

When Myles was pointed out to him he presented Lord Steerem’s compliments and asked if Mr. Manning would kindly come on board the launch for a few minutes, as his lordship had something of importance to communicate to him in private.

Greatly wondering at this, and not at all desiring to meet Lord Steerem, but thinking that he might possibly obtain some facts of interest for his paper by so doing, Myles complied with this request.

In the meanwhile the other reporters were gazing eagerly at the launch, noting the trim appearance of her crew, and trying to get a good look at Lord Steerem, who was partially concealed within the little pilot-house.

The moment Myles stepped on board the dainty craft she was cast loose from the press-boat, and as she began to move ahead at full speed her colors were hauled down. A moment later an American yacht ensign was run up on the after jack-staff, while from the one at the bow a broad silken banner inscribed in large golden letters, The Phonograph, was flung to the evening breeze. This name also appeared, as if by magic, on the black ribbons that encircled the new straw hats of the crew. At the same instant Lord Steerem stepped from the pilot-house, and, snatching the dark mustache from his face, exclaimed in the well-known voice of Billings, the Phonograph reporter: