Sentinel-Times Evening Edition

(Hopefully) In which a typesetter and an opinionated columnist seek to uncover truth in their sleepy small-town paper.

"Something else to print, Mr. Gregory?" I asked with my usual printer's enthusiasm, taking the folder from his thin hands.  He nodded, rubbing his eyes.  "Pulled an all-nighter for this one, I gather?"

"Editor wouldn't have it otherwise."  He flexed his tired fingers; they must've been run ragged from the probable all-night oddessy at his typewriter.

I nodded understandingly, flipping open the envelope to read the piece.  It was much shorter than I've known Mr. Gregory to write, but when I took in the words it had much more bite than his pieces were wont to have.  "You sure the editor'll let you print this, Mr. Gregory?" I asked nervously.  "This is some pretty strong stuff."

Mr. Gregory shrugged nonchalantly.  "Not as it stands, probably not."  He regarded the countertop.  "Not to say it shouldn't be published, though."

"I don't think the editor'll like it much..."

"But is it not the truth?" he asked me sharply.

I started.  "Yes sir, but--"

"Do you want to deprive people of truth?"  I hadn't seen such a fire in Mr. Gregory's tired eyes before, startled me something fierce.

"No sir!"

"Then you'll put it in today's edition?"

I checked the clock.  "Morning edition's just gone out, but I'll get to work on it right away for the evening printing."

Mr. Gregory nodded approvingly.  "Get to it, then."

The End

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