October 30, 2025 • 17 mins
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Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:00):
I once served an apprenticeship on a New York newspaper,
and some of my experiences as a reporter on the
evening smile, I shall never forget. A reporter on an
American newspaper is like a soldier. He is expected to
obey orders implicitly, even at the risk of his life.
(00:21):
For this reason, he has paid well. But a nervous
reporter often goes out of the office with his heart
in his mouth and an assignment that makes him think
seriously of taking out another insurance policy on his life.
When gloomy winter's morning, I got down to the office
at eight o'clock as usual, and had hardly reached my
(00:42):
desk when the news editor, a kind man who was
always giving me opportunities of distinguishing myself, came up and
began to speak at once in a very mysterious voice.
GOT a dandy assignment for you this morning, he said.
I looked up great. I guess you carry a six shooter,
(01:02):
don't you? He asked, you may needed this trip? Oh,
I managed to gasp. A lions escaped. He went on
in the quick, nervous American way of an American news editor.
Has it really, I said, wondering what was coming next.
Jeffrey's circus came to town last night. The lions somehow
(01:26):
got out, and they've been chasing it all night. Got
it cornered in the stable at last, somewhere in East
nineteenth Street. But it attacked and muld a valuable horse there.
And I understand it's still at bay. That's all I know.
Get up there as quick as you like and get
us a regular blazing story of it. You can run
(01:47):
to a column, he added over his shoulder as he
returned to his desk to distribute the other morning assignments.
And let's have your copy down by messenger, and time
for the first edition. No one ever disputed with the
news editor or asked unnecessary questions, but many a reporter
did a lot of steady thinking. When he got outside
(02:08):
the office and safely onto the doorstep, I crammed my
pocket full of paper from the big heap at the
middle table and swaggered out of the room with my
nose in the air, as though hunting escaped lines was
a little madder. I tended to every day of my life,
and that did not disturb me. In Adam, an overhead
(02:29):
train soon rattled me up to East nineteenth Street, but
it was some time before I found the stable where
the lion awaited me, for nineteenth Street runs from Broadway
down to the East River and is a mile or
two in length and full of stables, not far from
the corner of Irving Place. However, I got onto the
(02:50):
center of my quarry, and I had hardly joined the
group that had collected at the corner before a noise
like distant thunder rose on the air, and every single
pace in the group turned tail and began to run
for safety. What's the trouble, I asked of a man
as he dashed past me. Lion in that stable, he shouted,
(03:11):
pointing to the big wooden doors across the road. Escape
from the circus, savage as they make em. Killed a
trotting horse in there, and no one can get near it.
They say it's a man eater too. Another roar burst
out as he spoke, and the crowd that had begun
to collect again scattered in an instant in all directions.
(03:33):
There was no doubt about that sound. It was a
genuine lion's roar, and it sounded deeper, I thought, than
any roar I had ever heard before. But news was news,
and in this case news was bread and butter. I
must get the facts, and be quick about it, too,
for my copy had to be written out and in
(03:53):
the office of the Evening Smile and time for the
first edition. There was barely an hour in which to
do the whole business. I forced my way through the crowd,
now gathering again on the corner, and made my way
across the road to where a group of men was
standing not far from the stable doors. They moved about
a bit when the roars came, but none of them ran,
(04:17):
and I noticed some of them had pistols in their hands,
and some heavy crowbars and other weapons. Evidently, I judged
they were men connected with a circus, and I joined
the group and explained my mission. Well that's right enough,
said one of them. You've got a grand newspaper story
this time. Old yellow Hair's in there, sure pop. And
(04:40):
what's more, I don't see how we're ever going to
get him out again. The horse must be stiff by now,
said another. He was muled half to deaf an hour ago.
It'd be ashamed to have to shoot him, added a third,
meaning the lion. He's the best animal in the whole circus.
But he is awful savage. That's a fact, chimed in
(05:02):
a fourth there's no flies on old yellow hair. Someone
touched me on the arm and introduced himself as a
reporter from the evening grin a fellow worker in distress.
He said he didn't like the job at all. He
wanted us to go off and concoct a fake story.
But I wouldn't agree to this, and it fell through.
(05:24):
For unless all the evening papers conspire to write the
same story, there's always trouble at the office when the
reporters get back. Other reporters kept joining the group, and
in twenty minutes from the time of my arrival on
the scene, there must have been a good dozen of us.
Every paper in town was represented. It was a first
(05:44):
class news story, and the men who were paid by
space were already working hard to improve its value by
getting new details, such as the animal's history and pedigree,
names of previous victims, human or otherwise, and family history
of its favorite keeper, and every other imaginable detail under
(06:05):
the sun. There's an empty loft above the stable, said
one of the circusmen, pointing to a smaller door on
the story above and before ten minutes have passed. Someone
arrived with a ladder, and the string of unwilling reporters
was soon seen climbing up the rungs and disappearing like
rats into a hole through the door of the loft.
(06:27):
We drew lots for places, and I came fifth. Before
going out, however, I had got a messenger boy stationed
in the street below to catch my copy and hurry
off of it to the evening Smile as soon as
I could compose the wonderful story and throw it down
to him. The reporter on an evening paper in New
(06:48):
York has to write his stuff, as we called it,
in wonderful and terrible places, and under all sorts of conditions.
The only rules he must bear in mind are get
the new use and get it quick. Accuracy is a
mere detail for later editions, or not at all. The
loft was dark and small, and we only just managed
(07:11):
to squeeze in. It smelted pleasantly of hay. But there
was another odor besides that no one understood at first,
and that was decidedly unpleasant. Overhead were thick rafters. I
think every one of us noticed these before he noticed
anything else. For the instant the raw of that lion
(07:31):
sounded up through the boards under our feet. The reporters
scattered like shaft before the wind, and scuttled up into
those rafters with a speed in dust and clatter I
have never seen equaled. It was like sparrows flying from
the sudden onslaught of a cat. Fat men, lean men,
long men, short men. I never saw such a collection
(07:54):
of news gatherers, smart men from the big papers, shabby
fellows from the gutter press hats, flying, papers fluttering, And
in less than a second after the roll was heard,
there was not a solitary figure to be seen on
the floor. Every single man had gone aloft. We all
came down again when the roar ceased, and with subsequent
(08:17):
roars we got a little more accustomed to the shaking
of the boards under our feet. But the first time
at such close quarters, with only a shaky wooden roof
between us and old yellow hair, was no joke, and
we all behaved naturally and without pose or affectation, and
ran for safety, or rather climbed for it. There was
(08:40):
a trap door in the floor through which I suppose
the hay was passed down to the horses. Under normal circumstances.
One by one we crawled on all fours to this
trap door and peered through the scene below. I can
see to this day. As soon as one's eyes got
a little accustomed to the gloom, the outline of the
stall became first visible. Then a human figure seated on
(09:04):
the top of an old refrigerator with a pistol in
one hand, pointed at a corner opposite came into view.
Then another man seated astride the division between the stalls
could be seen, and last, but not least, I saw
the dark mass on the floor in the far corner,
where the dead horse lay mangled, and the monster of
(09:26):
a lion sprawled across his carcass, with great paws outstretched
and shining eyes. From time to time, the man on
the ice box fired his pistol, and every time he
did this, the lion roared, and the reporters flew and
climbed aloft. The trap doors was never occupied a single
second after the roar began, and as the number of
(09:49):
persons in the loft increased and the thin wooden floor
began to bend and shake, a number of these adventurous
news gatherers remained aloft and never put foot to ground.
Braver reporters threw their copy out of the door to
the messenger boys below, and every time this feat was accomplished,
the crowd safely watching on the corners opposite, cheered and
(10:12):
clapped their hands. A steady stream of writing dropped from
that loft door and poured all the morning into the
offices of the evening newspapers, while the morning newspapermen sat
quietly and looked down, knowing that they could write up
their own account later from the reports in the evening sheets.
The men in the stable below, occupying positions of great peril,
(10:35):
were of course connected with the traveling circus. We shouted
down questions to them, but more often got a pistol
shot instead of a voice by way of reply. Where
all those bullets went to was a matter for anxious
speculation amongst us, and the roaring of the lion combined
with the reports of the six shooter to keep us
(10:56):
fairly dancing on that wooden floor as if we were
practicing a cake walk. A sound of cheering from the
crowd outside, swelling momentarily as the neighborhood awoke to the situation,
brought us with a rush to the top of the ladder.
It's the strong man, cried several voices, the strong man
of the circus. He'll fix up the lion quick enough,
(11:18):
give him a chance. A huge man, who rightly enough
proved to be the performing strong man of the circus,
was seen making his way through the crowd, asking questions
as he went. A pathway opened up for him as
if by magic, and carrying a mighty iron crowbar, he
reached the foot of the ladder and began to climb up.
(11:40):
Thrilled by the sight of this monster with a determined
looking jaw, a dozen men rushed forward to hold the
bottom of the ladder while he ascended, But when he
was about half way up, the lion was inconsiderate enough
to give forth a most terrifying roar, with the immediate
result that the men holding the ladder turned tail with
(12:01):
one accord and fled. The latter slipped a few inches,
and the ascending sampson, crowbar and all very neatly came
to the ground with a crash. Fortunately, however, he just
managed to grab the ledge of the door, and a
dozen reporters seized him by the shoulders and dragged him safe.
But a trifle undignified into the loft, talking very loud
(12:25):
and referring to the lion with the richness of epithets
I have never heard equaled before or since. He crossed
the floor and began to squeeze through the hole into
the dangerous region below. In a moment he was hanging
with legs dangling, and a second later had dropped heavily
into a pile of hay underneath him. We lowered the
crowbar to him, breathless with admiration, and then a strange
(12:49):
thing happened. For while the lion roared and the pistols banged,
and we reporters tumbled over each other to get a
glimpse of the attack of the lion on the strong man,
or vice versa. Lo a voice below shouted to close
the trap, and the same instant a board from below
shot across the opening and completely obliterated our view. We'll
(13:13):
have to fake that part of the fight, said a reporter,
must all agree on the same yarn. The sounds from
below prevented the details being agreed upon just at that moment.
For such a hula ballou, as we then heard, is
simply indescribable. Shooting lion roaring, strong man shouting, growbar clanging,
(13:35):
and the sound of breaking wood and heavy bodies falling outside.
The crowd heard it too, and remained absolutely silent. Most
of them, indeed, had vanished every minute they expected to
see the doors burst open and the enraged animal rush
out with a strong man between his jaws, and their
silence was accordingly explained by their absence. At least half
(14:00):
of the reporters were still among the rafters when the
trap door shut back in the floor and a voice
cried breathlessly that the strong man had caged the lion.
It was indeed a thrilling moment. We clambered down the
ladder and out into the street, just in time to
see the great doors open in a procession emerge that
(14:20):
was worth all the traveling circuses in the world put
together to see. First came the trainer with a pistol
in either hand. Following him was the man with a
small crowbar, who had sat on the division between the stalls.
Then came a great iron cage, which had been in
the stable all the time, but a little out of
(14:41):
our line of vision in a dark corner, so that
no one had observed it In this cage lay the huge,
exhausted lion, panting on its side with leather dripping from
its great jaws. And on the top of the cage,
seated tailor wise dressed in a very loud check all
and wearing a bell shaped opera hat on the side
(15:03):
of his head, was the proud figure of the victorious
strong man. The expression on his face was worth painting,
but it is wholly beyond me to describe it. Such
exultation and glorious pride was worthy of the mightiest gladiator
that ever fought in an arena. His long curly hair,
shining with oil, escaped in disorder from his marvelously shaped
(15:27):
top hat, and the massive crowbar that had brought him
his hard won victory stood upright on one end. Grasped
in his gigantic hand. He smiled round on the gathering crowd,
and the procession moved proudly up the streets, till within
half an hour the people following and cheering must have
numbered many thousands. Wee reporters rushed off to our various offices,
(15:51):
and the streets were soon afterwards lively, with newspaper boys
shouting the news and waving sheets of terrible and alarming
headlines about the escaped lion and its fearful ravages, and
the strong man who had captured it after a ghastly
battle for his life. Next day, the morning papers did
not publish a solitary line about the great event, but
(16:15):
in the advertising columns of every newspaper appeared the prospectus
of the traveling circus just come to town, and in particularly
bold type, the public were told to be sure and
see yellow hair, the savage man eating lion that had
escaped the day before and killed a valuable horse in
(16:35):
a private stable where it had been chased by the
terrified keepers. And in the paragraph below the details followed
of the wonderful strong man Samson, who had caught and
caged the lion single handed, armed only with a crowbar.
It was the best advertisement a circus ever had, and
(16:56):
most of it was not paid for guests. You knew
it was all a fake, queried the news editor next morning,
as he gave me the usual assignment. It was my
first week on an American paper, and I stared at him,
waiting for the rest. That lion hasn't a tooth in
its head. They dragged in a dead horse in the night.
(17:17):
He wrote a good story, though cleaned your pistol yet?
And of My Adventure with a Lion by Algernon Blackwood
I once served an apprenticeship on a New York newspaper,
and some of my experiences as a reporter on the
evening smile, I shall never forget. A reporter on an
American newspaper is like a soldier. He is expected to
obey orders implicitly, even at the risk of his life.
(00:21):
For this reason, he has paid well. But a nervous
reporter often goes out of the office with his heart
in his mouth and an assignment that makes him think
seriously of taking out another insurance policy on his life.
When gloomy winter's morning, I got down to the office
at eight o'clock as usual, and had hardly reached my
(00:42):
desk when the news editor, a kind man who was
always giving me opportunities of distinguishing myself, came up and
began to speak at once in a very mysterious voice.
GOT a dandy assignment for you this morning, he said.
I looked up great. I guess you carry a six shooter,
(01:02):
don't you? He asked, you may needed this trip? Oh,
I managed to gasp. A lions escaped. He went on
in the quick, nervous American way of an American news editor.
Has it really, I said, wondering what was coming next.
Jeffrey's circus came to town last night. The lions somehow
(01:26):
got out, and they've been chasing it all night. Got
it cornered in the stable at last, somewhere in East
nineteenth Street. But it attacked and muld a valuable horse there.
And I understand it's still at bay. That's all I know.
Get up there as quick as you like and get
us a regular blazing story of it. You can run
(01:47):
to a column, he added over his shoulder as he
returned to his desk to distribute the other morning assignments.
And let's have your copy down by messenger, and time
for the first edition. No one ever disputed with the
news editor or asked unnecessary questions, but many a reporter
did a lot of steady thinking. When he got outside
(02:08):
the office and safely onto the doorstep, I crammed my
pocket full of paper from the big heap at the
middle table and swaggered out of the room with my
nose in the air, as though hunting escaped lines was
a little madder. I tended to every day of my life,
and that did not disturb me. In Adam, an overhead
(02:29):
train soon rattled me up to East nineteenth Street, but
it was some time before I found the stable where
the lion awaited me, for nineteenth Street runs from Broadway
down to the East River and is a mile or
two in length and full of stables, not far from
the corner of Irving Place. However, I got onto the
(02:50):
center of my quarry, and I had hardly joined the
group that had collected at the corner before a noise
like distant thunder rose on the air, and every single
pace in the group turned tail and began to run
for safety. What's the trouble, I asked of a man
as he dashed past me. Lion in that stable, he shouted,
(03:11):
pointing to the big wooden doors across the road. Escape
from the circus, savage as they make em. Killed a
trotting horse in there, and no one can get near it.
They say it's a man eater too. Another roar burst
out as he spoke, and the crowd that had begun
to collect again scattered in an instant in all directions.
(03:33):
There was no doubt about that sound. It was a
genuine lion's roar, and it sounded deeper, I thought, than
any roar I had ever heard before. But news was news,
and in this case news was bread and butter. I
must get the facts, and be quick about it, too,
for my copy had to be written out and in
(03:53):
the office of the Evening Smile and time for the
first edition. There was barely an hour in which to
do the whole business. I forced my way through the crowd,
now gathering again on the corner, and made my way
across the road to where a group of men was
standing not far from the stable doors. They moved about
a bit when the roars came, but none of them ran,
(04:17):
and I noticed some of them had pistols in their hands,
and some heavy crowbars and other weapons. Evidently, I judged
they were men connected with a circus, and I joined
the group and explained my mission. Well that's right enough,
said one of them. You've got a grand newspaper story
this time. Old yellow Hair's in there, sure pop. And
(04:40):
what's more, I don't see how we're ever going to
get him out again. The horse must be stiff by now,
said another. He was muled half to deaf an hour ago.
It'd be ashamed to have to shoot him, added a third,
meaning the lion. He's the best animal in the whole circus.
But he is awful savage. That's a fact, chimed in
(05:02):
a fourth there's no flies on old yellow hair. Someone
touched me on the arm and introduced himself as a
reporter from the evening grin a fellow worker in distress.
He said he didn't like the job at all. He
wanted us to go off and concoct a fake story.
But I wouldn't agree to this, and it fell through.
(05:24):
For unless all the evening papers conspire to write the
same story, there's always trouble at the office when the
reporters get back. Other reporters kept joining the group, and
in twenty minutes from the time of my arrival on
the scene, there must have been a good dozen of us.
Every paper in town was represented. It was a first
(05:44):
class news story, and the men who were paid by
space were already working hard to improve its value by
getting new details, such as the animal's history and pedigree,
names of previous victims, human or otherwise, and family history
of its favorite keeper, and every other imaginable detail under
(06:05):
the sun. There's an empty loft above the stable, said
one of the circusmen, pointing to a smaller door on
the story above and before ten minutes have passed. Someone
arrived with a ladder, and the string of unwilling reporters
was soon seen climbing up the rungs and disappearing like
rats into a hole through the door of the loft.
(06:27):
We drew lots for places, and I came fifth. Before
going out, however, I had got a messenger boy stationed
in the street below to catch my copy and hurry
off of it to the evening Smile as soon as
I could compose the wonderful story and throw it down
to him. The reporter on an evening paper in New
(06:48):
York has to write his stuff, as we called it,
in wonderful and terrible places, and under all sorts of conditions.
The only rules he must bear in mind are get
the new use and get it quick. Accuracy is a
mere detail for later editions, or not at all. The
loft was dark and small, and we only just managed
(07:11):
to squeeze in. It smelted pleasantly of hay. But there
was another odor besides that no one understood at first,
and that was decidedly unpleasant. Overhead were thick rafters. I
think every one of us noticed these before he noticed
anything else. For the instant the raw of that lion
(07:31):
sounded up through the boards under our feet. The reporters
scattered like shaft before the wind, and scuttled up into
those rafters with a speed in dust and clatter I
have never seen equaled. It was like sparrows flying from
the sudden onslaught of a cat. Fat men, lean men,
long men, short men. I never saw such a collection
(07:54):
of news gatherers, smart men from the big papers, shabby
fellows from the gutter press hats, flying, papers fluttering, And
in less than a second after the roll was heard,
there was not a solitary figure to be seen on
the floor. Every single man had gone aloft. We all
came down again when the roar ceased, and with subsequent
(08:17):
roars we got a little more accustomed to the shaking
of the boards under our feet. But the first time
at such close quarters, with only a shaky wooden roof
between us and old yellow hair, was no joke, and
we all behaved naturally and without pose or affectation, and
ran for safety, or rather climbed for it. There was
(08:40):
a trap door in the floor through which I suppose
the hay was passed down to the horses. Under normal circumstances.
One by one we crawled on all fours to this
trap door and peered through the scene below. I can
see to this day. As soon as one's eyes got
a little accustomed to the gloom, the outline of the
stall became first visible. Then a human figure seated on
(09:04):
the top of an old refrigerator with a pistol in
one hand, pointed at a corner opposite came into view.
Then another man seated astride the division between the stalls
could be seen, and last, but not least, I saw
the dark mass on the floor in the far corner,
where the dead horse lay mangled, and the monster of
(09:26):
a lion sprawled across his carcass, with great paws outstretched
and shining eyes. From time to time, the man on
the ice box fired his pistol, and every time he
did this, the lion roared, and the reporters flew and
climbed aloft. The trap doors was never occupied a single
second after the roar began, and as the number of
(09:49):
persons in the loft increased and the thin wooden floor
began to bend and shake, a number of these adventurous
news gatherers remained aloft and never put foot to ground.
Braver reporters threw their copy out of the door to
the messenger boys below, and every time this feat was accomplished,
the crowd safely watching on the corners opposite, cheered and
(10:12):
clapped their hands. A steady stream of writing dropped from
that loft door and poured all the morning into the
offices of the evening newspapers, while the morning newspapermen sat
quietly and looked down, knowing that they could write up
their own account later from the reports in the evening sheets.
The men in the stable below, occupying positions of great peril,
(10:35):
were of course connected with the traveling circus. We shouted
down questions to them, but more often got a pistol
shot instead of a voice by way of reply. Where
all those bullets went to was a matter for anxious
speculation amongst us, and the roaring of the lion combined
with the reports of the six shooter to keep us
(10:56):
fairly dancing on that wooden floor as if we were
practicing a cake walk. A sound of cheering from the
crowd outside, swelling momentarily as the neighborhood awoke to the situation,
brought us with a rush to the top of the ladder.
It's the strong man, cried several voices, the strong man
of the circus. He'll fix up the lion quick enough,
(11:18):
give him a chance. A huge man, who rightly enough
proved to be the performing strong man of the circus,
was seen making his way through the crowd, asking questions
as he went. A pathway opened up for him as
if by magic, and carrying a mighty iron crowbar, he
reached the foot of the ladder and began to climb up.
(11:40):
Thrilled by the sight of this monster with a determined
looking jaw, a dozen men rushed forward to hold the
bottom of the ladder while he ascended, But when he
was about half way up, the lion was inconsiderate enough
to give forth a most terrifying roar, with the immediate
result that the men holding the ladder turned tail with
(12:01):
one accord and fled. The latter slipped a few inches,
and the ascending sampson, crowbar and all very neatly came
to the ground with a crash. Fortunately, however, he just
managed to grab the ledge of the door, and a
dozen reporters seized him by the shoulders and dragged him safe.
But a trifle undignified into the loft, talking very loud
(12:25):
and referring to the lion with the richness of epithets
I have never heard equaled before or since. He crossed
the floor and began to squeeze through the hole into
the dangerous region below. In a moment he was hanging
with legs dangling, and a second later had dropped heavily
into a pile of hay underneath him. We lowered the
crowbar to him, breathless with admiration, and then a strange
(12:49):
thing happened. For while the lion roared and the pistols banged,
and we reporters tumbled over each other to get a
glimpse of the attack of the lion on the strong man,
or vice versa. Lo a voice below shouted to close
the trap, and the same instant a board from below
shot across the opening and completely obliterated our view. We'll
(13:13):
have to fake that part of the fight, said a reporter,
must all agree on the same yarn. The sounds from
below prevented the details being agreed upon just at that moment.
For such a hula ballou, as we then heard, is
simply indescribable. Shooting lion roaring, strong man shouting, growbar clanging,
(13:35):
and the sound of breaking wood and heavy bodies falling outside.
The crowd heard it too, and remained absolutely silent. Most
of them, indeed, had vanished every minute they expected to
see the doors burst open and the enraged animal rush
out with a strong man between his jaws, and their
silence was accordingly explained by their absence. At least half
(14:00):
of the reporters were still among the rafters when the
trap door shut back in the floor and a voice
cried breathlessly that the strong man had caged the lion.
It was indeed a thrilling moment. We clambered down the
ladder and out into the street, just in time to
see the great doors open in a procession emerge that
(14:20):
was worth all the traveling circuses in the world put
together to see. First came the trainer with a pistol
in either hand. Following him was the man with a
small crowbar, who had sat on the division between the stalls.
Then came a great iron cage, which had been in
the stable all the time, but a little out of
(14:41):
our line of vision in a dark corner, so that
no one had observed it In this cage lay the huge,
exhausted lion, panting on its side with leather dripping from
its great jaws. And on the top of the cage,
seated tailor wise dressed in a very loud check all
and wearing a bell shaped opera hat on the side
(15:03):
of his head, was the proud figure of the victorious
strong man. The expression on his face was worth painting,
but it is wholly beyond me to describe it. Such
exultation and glorious pride was worthy of the mightiest gladiator
that ever fought in an arena. His long curly hair,
shining with oil, escaped in disorder from his marvelously shaped
(15:27):
top hat, and the massive crowbar that had brought him
his hard won victory stood upright on one end. Grasped
in his gigantic hand. He smiled round on the gathering crowd,
and the procession moved proudly up the streets, till within
half an hour the people following and cheering must have
numbered many thousands. Wee reporters rushed off to our various offices,
(15:51):
and the streets were soon afterwards lively, with newspaper boys
shouting the news and waving sheets of terrible and alarming
headlines about the escaped lion and its fearful ravages, and
the strong man who had captured it after a ghastly
battle for his life. Next day, the morning papers did
not publish a solitary line about the great event, but
(16:15):
in the advertising columns of every newspaper appeared the prospectus
of the traveling circus just come to town, and in particularly
bold type, the public were told to be sure and
see yellow hair, the savage man eating lion that had
escaped the day before and killed a valuable horse in
(16:35):
a private stable where it had been chased by the
terrified keepers. And in the paragraph below the details followed
of the wonderful strong man Samson, who had caught and
caged the lion single handed, armed only with a crowbar.
It was the best advertisement a circus ever had, and
(16:56):
most of it was not paid for guests. You knew
it was all a fake, queried the news editor next morning,
as he gave me the usual assignment. It was my
first week on an American paper, and I stared at him,
waiting for the rest. That lion hasn't a tooth in
its head. They dragged in a dead horse in the night.
(17:17):
He wrote a good story, though cleaned your pistol yet?
And of My Adventure with a Lion by Algernon Blackwood
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