Jane Carter Investigates: Episode Sixty-Six
The rewrite man got on the line,
and I began a second time. Now and then, the rewrite man broke into my story to
ask a question.
“All right, I think I have it
all,” he said finally and hung up.
I went back to the car.
“I don’t know what they thought
of the story,” I told Shep. “DeWitt certainly didn’t waste any words of praise,
and I think I’m one of his favorites. Did you know that Mr. DeWitt claims to be
a regular reader of Pittman’s All-Story
Weekly Magazine?”
“He never wastes words of praise
on anyone,” said Shep. “I consider myself lucky if I come out of a meeting with
DeWitt and haven’t gotten fired.”
“I can’t get fired,” I said. “I’m
not actually a member of the staff. Also, being the editor’s daughter has its
advantages.”
The regular night edition of the Greenville
Examiner was on the street by the time we reached the city. Shep
signaled a newsboy and bought a paper while we waited in the car for a traffic
light to change. He tossed the paper over to me.
“Here it is!” I said and quickly
scanned the front page. “What did they do to my story?”
“What’s the matter? Did they
garble it all up?”
“They’ve cut it down to three
inches! And not a word about the alligator or the lost wedding ring! I could
cry! I told that rewrite man enough to fill at least a column!”
“Well, anyway you made the front
page,” Shep said. “They may build the story up in the next edition after they
get my pictures.”
Shep let me out at the front door
of the Examiner building. I debated
for a moment whether or not to go on home but finally went inside.
DeWitt was busy at his desk as I
walked past. I hoped that he would notice how I ignored him, but he did not
glance up from the copy before him.
I opened the door of my father’s
private office and stopped short.
“Dad? What are you doing here?
You’re supposed to be home in bed.”
“I finally persuaded the doctor
to let me out,” my father said, swinging around in his swivel chair. “How did
you get along with your assignment?”
“I thought I did very well,
considering the circumstances,” I said. “But from now on, I’ll not telephone
anything in. I’ll write the story myself.”
“Now don’t blame DeWitt or the
rewrite man,” said Dad. “A paper has to be careful in what it publishes,
especially about a wedding. Alligators are a bit too—shall we say,
sensational?”
“You made a similar remark about
witch dolls,” I reminded him.
“I did eat my words that time,”
my father admitted, “but this is different. If we build up a big story about
Thomas Atwood’s disappearance, and then tomorrow he shows up at his own home,
we’ll appear pretty ridiculous.”
“I guess you’re right,” I said.
“Well, I’m happy to see you back in the office, again.”
When I reached the door, Dad
called me back.
“Aren’t you forgetting
something?”
“What, Dad?”
Dad took a sealed envelope from
the desk drawer.
“You must be upset about that
story since you’ve forgotten to collect payment for it.”
“I must be slipping,” I said.
“Why don’t you open it?”
“What’s the use?” I said. “It’s
always the same. Twenty-five-cents per column inch, so that should make about
seventy-five cents.”
“You might be pleasantly
surprised.”
I ripped open the envelope and
shook it. A crisp five-dollar bill fell out.
“I always try to reward a good
reporter,” Dad said. “Now take yourself off, because my work is stacked up a
mile high.”
I thanked Dad, who informed me
that the five dollars were not charity. He also informed me that he expected me
to spend at least some of this largess on stockings without tears in them, so
he could stop worrying that people thought he let his widowed daughter wallow
in abject poverty.
I turned to leave, but the door
opened before I could cross the room. An office boy came in with a message for
my father.
“Man to see you named Atwood,”
the office boy announced.
“Thomas Atwood?” Dad asked.
The office boy stopped to think
for a second and said, “I think that’s what he said.”
“Thomas Atwood!” my father said.
“Then he hasn’t disappeared after all! Show him in.”
“And I’m staying right here,” I said, easing myself into the nearest chair. “I have a hunch that this interview may concern me.”
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