not alone what he owes his paper--it's what he owes himself. Personally
I wouldn't be interested for a minute in bringing the person that killed
Rod Bullard to justice--that's not the point. He was a pretty shady
person--Rod Bullard. By all accounts he got what was coming to him. It's
the story itself that I'd want."

"Say, listen here, major," put in Pinky Gilfoil, suddenly possessed of a
strengthening argument; "I reckon back yonder in the Civil War, when you
all got the smoke of battle in your noses, you didn't stop to consider
that you were about to make a large crop of widows and orphans and
cause suffering to a whole slue of innocent people that'd never done you
any harm! You didn't stop then, did you? I'll bet you didn't--you just
sailed in! It was your duty--the right thing to do--and you just went
and did it. 'War is hell!' Sherman said. Well, so is newspaper work
hell--in a way. And smelling out a big story ought to be the same to a
reporter that the smoke of battle is to a soldier. That's right--I'll
leave it to any fellow here if that ain't right!" he wound up,
forgetting in his enthusiasm to be grammatical.

It was an unfortunate simile to be making and Pinky should have known
better, for at Pinky's last words the old major's mild eye widened and,
expanding himself, he brought his chair legs down to the floor with a
thump.

"Ah, yes!" he said, and his voice took on still more of its old ringing
quality. "Speaking of battles, I am just reminded, young gentlemen, that
tomorrow is the anniversary of the fall of Vicksburg. Though
Northern-born, General Pemberton was a gallant officer--none of our own
Southern leaders was more gallant--but it has always seemed to me that
his defense of Vicksburg was marked by a series of the most lamentable
and disastrous mistakes. If you care to listen, I will explain further."
And he squared himself forward, with one short, plump hand raised, ready
to tick off his points against Pemberton upon his fingers.

By experience dearly bought at the expense of our ear-drums, the members
of the Evening Press staff knew what that meant; for as you already
know, the major's conversational specialty was the Civil War--it and its
campaigns. Describing it, he made even war a commonplace and a tiresome
topic. In his hands an account of the hardest fought battle became a
tremendously uninteresting thing. He weeded out all the thrills and in
their places planted hedges of dusty, deadly dry