O’Rourke
I always did like O’Rourke, the crabby old round-shouldered news editor at The Sentinel. Of course Constantin was the real boss, but he lived in a lofty place from which he could perceive nothing smaller than an international crisis. Sometimes we saw him passing in lonely grandeur to his inner sanctum, his mind hovering over the Persian Gulf. He never saw us, but O’Rourke was his first lieutenant and it was he that we knew. The old man nodded and pushed his spectacles up on his bald forehead as I came in.
“Well Jenkins, you seem to be doing very well,” he said kindly. “The factory fire was excellent. So was the bus crash. What did you want to see me about?” “To ask a favor.”
His brow furrowed warily.
“What is it?”
“Do you think, Sir, that you could possibly send me on some mission for the paper? I would do my best to get you some good copy.” “What sort of mission had you in mind, Jenkins?”
“Well, Sir, anything that had adventure and danger in it. The more difficult, the better!”
“You seem very anxious to lose your life, Jenkins.”
“To justify my life, Sir!”
“Dear me, this is rather exalted. I’m afraid the day for this sort of thing is past. The expense of the special assignment business hardly justifies the result, and in any case only an experienced man with a name that could command public confidence would get such an order.”
My shoulders sank. O’Rourke looked at me kindly for a moment. But suddenly, his head bobbed up and he looked excited.
“Wait a moment,” said he. “What about exposing a fraud? There’s a fellow going about making ridiculous claims about a lost continent. You could show him up as the liar that he is. How does that appeal to you?”
“Anything, anywhere,” I cried. O’Rourke thought furiously for some minutes.
“I bet you could get friendly with this fellow,” he said at last. “You seem to be good with people. Animal magnetism or something. Why not try your luck with Professor Corval?” I must have looked a little startled. “Corval,” I cried. “Corval, the famous anthropologist?
Wasn’t he the man who broke Benson’s arm over that piece he wrote for The Telegraph?”
The news editor smiled grimly. “Didn’t you say it was adventures you were after?”
In the first paragraph, Constantin’s mind is said to be “hovering over the Persian Gulf.” This means that
Select an option, then click Submit answer.
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Constantin is hallucinating
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Constantin is probably preoccupied with weighty matters
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Constantin is listening to the news on a headset
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Constantin is mentally ill
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Constantin has indigestion from a Persian meal