The wind did its part.
There is no corner in all New York where it blows as it does around
the Tribune building. As I flew into Spruce Street I brought up
smack against two men coming out of the side door. One of them I
knocked off his feet into a snowdrift. He floundered about in it
and swore dreadfully. By the voice I knew that it was Mr. Shanks.
I stood petrified, mechanically pinning his slouch hat to the ground
with my toe. He got upon his feet at last and came toward me, much
wrought up.
"Who in thunder--" he growled angrily and caught sight of my rueful
face. I was thinking I might as well have left my note on his desk
that morning, for now I was going to be discharged anyhow.
"Is that the way you treat your city editor, Riis?" he asked, while
I handed him his hat.
"It was the wind, sir, and I was running--"
"Running! What is up that set you going at that rate?"
I told him of the meeting I had attended--it was of no account--and
that I was running to catch the edition. He heard me out.
"And do you always run like that when you are out on assignments?"
"When it is late like this, yes.
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