Speed

William Randolph Hearst has built another house. It is a squarish house, stolid, concrete, spotted with wide windows, utilitarian. It cost $3,000,000. The money was mostly spent for speed.

From this house will each day issue the myriad copies of Hearst's New York Journal (evening) and American (morning). It is alive with rollers, chutes, conveyors to carry copy, proof, type to contact points in the process of rushing news to newsboy. In the "fudge" room stand three linotype machines next to telegraph instruments where telegraphic flashes tell sudden death, discovery, disaster. From the machines, conveyors carry the type galley directly to the presses. News, newspapers think, should be gobbled hot. The American and Journal have every known device to sell it smoking.

In such a strictly business plant there is little room for luxury. Only Arthur Brisbane is pampered. The famed concoctor of editorial paragraphs has a private library, dressing room, shower bath, should he be too busy for those luxuries in his tall Ritz Tower. But even in his spacious suite the desks, where work is done, are made of metal. No New Year's work was done on them; Mr. Brisbane far from Manhattan as he often is, wrote paragraphs from a desert in California.