"What a busy--an awfully busy--street!" was Richard's comment.
"It's rather dull now," said Doc Linyard. "Just wait till day-time.
The wagons and people are enough to drive a man wild. That's the
postoffice over there," he continued, as he pointed to the stone
structure that stands as a wedge, separating Broadway from Park Row
and the Bowery.
"Come ahead. Here we are on Newspaper Row, as lots call it. This was
the _Herald_ building before that paper moved uptown. It used to
be Barnum's Museum years ago. Way down at the head of Frankfort Street
is the _World_, and nearly all the rest of the great dailies are
strung along between the two. Here we are."
As Doc Linyard finished he led the way into the outer office of a
newspaper about midway down the Row.
It was a lively place, a constant stream of people coming in and going
out, and the hum of many voices--the whole putting Richard in mind of
some huge machine, grinding out its stipulated work.
Along one side of the counting room was a row of small windows, each
labeled with its department name.
Stepping up to that marked "Advertisements," the old sailor handed in
the one Richard had written out.
The clerk examined it. Then he wrote in the number of a box, and put
down several private marks in the corner.
Pages:
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