California, Southern -- Fiction; Motion picture industry -- Fiction; Petroleum industry and trade -- Fiction; Political fiction
MILLIONAIRE RED IN COLLEGE!
_Son of Oil Magnate Backs Soviets!_
And it scooped its rivals by having a photograph of Bunny, which it had
got by rushing a man to the Ross home, and informing Aunt Emma that
Bunny had just been awarded a prize for the best scholarship record in
ten years. The good lady was so excited, she sent the butler out to the
corner drug-store three times, to see if the “Evening Howler” had
arrived with the story of that prize!
IX
In the ordinary course of events this newspaper excitement would have
lasted thirty-two hours. Next afternoon’s papers would have recorded the
fact that the university authorities had banned “The Investigator,” and
on the following day their streamer-heads would have proclaimed, “Film
Star Divorces Champ,” or “Magnate’s Wife Elopes with Cop.”
But fate had prepared a fantastic torment for the “parlor reds” of S. P.
U. On the morning after their flyer in publicity, it chanced that a
wagon loaded with blasting material, making its way through Wall Street
with customary indifference to municipal ordinances, met with a
collision and exploded. The accident happened in front of the banking
offices of Morgan and Company, and about a dozen people were killed. A
few minutes after the accident, the bankers called in America’s
sleuth-celebrity to solve the mystery; and this able business man,
facing the situation that if it was an accident it was nothing, while if
it was a Bolshevik plot it was several hundred thousand dollars, took
three minutes to look about him, and then pronounced it a plot.
And forthwith throughout the world a horde of spies and informers went
to work, knowing that if he or she could find or invent a clue, it was
fame and fortune for him or her. A wave of witch-hunting swept the
country, and other countries—for two or three years thereafter new
discoveries would be made, and new “revelations” promised, and poor
devils in Polish and Roumanian dungeons would have their arms twisted
out of joint and their testicles macerated, while eager newspaper
readers in New York and Chicago and Angel City waited ravenously for
promised thrills.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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