For the benefit of half-witted readers, I will recount the Helsh case in brief. Wallace Helsh was a wealthy barn tearer in Pennsylvania. He went all over the state tearing down barns so horses could get more air. Mrs. Helsh was the former Minnie Blaggy, prominent in Philadelphia society and the daughter of Blotho Blaggy, who was in charge of one of the switches in the Broad Street railroad yards. Young Helsh and Miss Blaggy became acquainted on one of the former’s barnstorming tours and were married two weeks after their first meeting. At the time of the murder, they had been married three years and Mrs. Helsh (née Blaggy) was expecting a baby, the child of one of her sisters. The baby was supposed to arrive on the 12:09 (midnight) train and the police first believed that the murder had grown out of a quarrel between the Helshes over which of them should sit up and meet it. This theory was based on the testimony of a neighbor, Basil Kidney, who said he had been hiding behind a book in the Helsh living room and overheard the following conversation:
“Will you sit up and meet our niece?” This from Mrs. Helsh.
“No.” This from Helsh.
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t water meter.”
The witness did not hear any more of the conversation because it was then time for him to go on to another neighbor’s house, the Quimbys, and hide in their living room. He was an habitual living room hider. But half an hour after his departure from the Helsh home, a mysterious voice called up the police headquarters at Bryn Mawr and announced that there had been a murder at 24 Vine Street. This was not where the Helshes lived, which made it all the more puzzling.
“Dig right into this!” said my city editor. “Comb Philadelphia, find out who did it and get lots of pictures.”
“How about my transportation?” I inquired.
“You can have carte blanche,” was his reply.
But thinking he referred to a dog cart and an old horse named Blanche, which conveyed our society reporter to and from her work every day, I declined his offer and went to Philadelphia by rail. My mistake was profitable, for the first man I met when I rolled from under the train at Broad Street was Blotho Blaggy, Mrs. Helsh’s father.
“How about the murder, Mr. Blaggy?” I asked.
“Fine,” he said. “They have arrested my little four-year-old grandchild, who was on her way to visit her aunt and uncle, but they can’t pin anything on her. She hates pins; says she is too old for them.”
Next morning, The Rabies made all the other tabloids look silly. Across the front page we had a streamer, “Child Murder Suspect Balks at Pins!” and under it were pictures of Lillian Gish, who had appeared on the screen at a Chestnut Street theatre that week, and of Chief Bender, making a balk. On Page 2 was my story of the murder and on Page 3, the first chapter of Mrs. Helsh’s diary, of which I have preserved a copy and will reprint a few paragraphs:
“Oo, Oo, diary, I am going to keep oo and write in oo every day and when I am a ole, ole lady bug, I will read oo and live over the days of my honeymoon.
“Daddy was a baddy, baddy boy today. I asked um to bwing me a ittsy bittsy diamond wing and he fordotted all about it and when I scolded um he swang for my jaw and knocked out some toofums that my real honest to goodness daddy had give me for a wedding pwesent.
“Oo never can tell what a red hot daddy will do‑oo‑oo.”
I have perhaps forgotten to mention that when the police finally reached the Helsh home, Helsh was nowhere to be seen and Mrs. Helsh (née Blaggy) was playing a game of Bemis with her little niece. Asked when she expected her husband, she said the hour of his arrival always depended on the number and toughness of the barns he had visited, but he usually got back about six o’clock. The police then arrested the niece and left a guard to receive Helsh if and when he showed up. Sure enough, just at six o’clock he reached home and found dinner ready.
On the following morning, The Rabies printed pictures of Georges Carpentier, June Walker and Miss Omaha on the beach at Atlantic City and a portrait of the bathtub in which Mrs. Helsh’s sister had bathed her little girl before sending her on the fatal visit. I was given a bonus of $50 and spent it and the next two weeks waiting around for some more excitement.
XVII
Promoted to Contest Editor
In the days of which I am now writing, Horace Greeley and Ben Hecht were joint editors of The Rabies. They edited all the news that came in about different joints around town. They received only a small salary, but were given a share of the paper’s profits; therefore it was to their interest that the circulation and, consequently, the advertising be built up. One evening Mr. Greely called me into his private bath.33
As I entered he said, “Young man, go wash,” and pointed to the bowl.34
When I had dried the both of us, Mr. Greeley said:
“Kid” (he called me kid), “the more people that buys this paper, the better for I and Ben. Now the best circulation getters is contests and we are going to make you contest editor with carte blanche to offer whatever prizes you like in every kind of contest you
