The New Reporter
Island. Linton got red in the face and ran behind the railing. "Let up on that, officer," he exclaimed. "It isn't necessary to handle them so roughly."
The policeman grinned. "Young feller, you go and sit down. I know my business; you go tend to yours. This old lady's drunk. Let's see you handle her."
Linton could only say, "Oh, shut up," boyishly, but he stepped up to the Justice, who was idle just then, to see what could be done about it. The Justice seemed a pretty decent fellow, but he only shook his head and smiled at the young reporter. "She only cries because she's a woman," he said, re-dipping his pen. "She knows the Island's the best place for her. She'd freeze on the streets this weather."
So, after awhile he found himself becoming accustomed to it. He was powerless to prevent what he saw, so why let it get on his nerves? It was his business to watch all this, so, like a doctor, he was learning to observe suffering and disease from a purely professional point of view. Soon he was able to drum listlessly on the reporters' table with
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