Jack Benson would have sung
the praises of the Pollard boats readily enough. But it was Eph, alone
of the three, who could give to such an interview the humor and wit that
American newspaper readers enjoy.
One "reporter" in the party that was rowed back to the beach was not
known to his associates. Wherever several newspaper men are gathered
at a point on business it is generally easy for a stranger, not connected
with the press, to push himself into the group. The stranger, in this
instance, had given the name of Norton, claiming to be from an Omaha
paper.
Arrived at the beach, however, "Norton" did not hasten to the telegraph
office. Instead, he hurried to the Hotel Clayton, the largest and most
expensive of the hotels at Spruce Beach.
Entering one of the elevators, Norton stepped off at the third floor.
He stepped briskly down a corridor, stopping before a door and giving
an unusual style of knock.
"Come--in," sounded a drawling voice, and Norton entered.
From a seat by a table, in the center of the large room, rose a man
somewhat past middle age This man was tall, not very stout, with a
sallow face adorned by a mustache and goatee. The man's eyes were
piercing and black. His hair was also black, save where a slight gray
was visible at the temples.
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