The _Tribune_ next day was the only paper that had an account of
the tidal wave on the island. But something about it did not seem
to strike the city editor just right. There was an unwonted suavity
in his summons when he called me to his desk which I had learned
to dread as liable to conceal some fatal thrust.
"So you went to the island last night, Mr. Riis," he observed,
regarding me over the edge of the paper.
"No, sir! I couldn't get across; nobody could."
"Eh!" He lowered the paper an inch, and took a better look: "this
very circumstantial account--"
"Was gathered from the hotel-keepers in Sheepshead Bay, who had
seen it all. If there had been a boat not stove by the ice, I would
have got across somehow."
Mr. Shanks dropped the paper and considered me almost kindly. I
saw that he had my bill for the sleigh-ride in his hand.
"Right!" he said. "We'll allow the sleigh. We'll allow even the
stove, to a man who owns he didn't see it, though it is pretty
steep." He pointed to a paragraph which described how, after the
wreck of the watchman's shanty, the kitchen stove floated ashore
with the house-cat alive and safe upon it.
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