BY
PROXY
By DAVID GORDON
Illustrated by Van Dongen
r. Terrence Elshawe didnot conform to themental picture thatpops into the averageperson's mind when hehears the words "news reporter."Automatically, one thinks of thegeneral run of earnest, handsome,firm-jawed, level-eyed, smooth-voicedgentlemen one sees on one's TVscreen. No matter which news serviceone subscribes to, the reportersare all pretty much of a type. AndTerrence Elshawe simply wasn't thetype.
The confusion arises becausethirty-odd years of television has resultedin specialization. If you runup much Magnum Telenews time onyour meter, you're familiar with thecultured voice and rugged good looksof Brett Maxon, "your Magnum reporter,"but Maxon is a reporteronly in the very literal sense of theword. He's an actor, whose sole jobis to make Magnum news sound moreinteresting than some other telenewsservice, even though he's giving youexactly the same facts. But hedoesn't go out and dig up thosestories.
The actual leg work of getting thenews into Maxon's hands so that hecan report it to you is done by researchreporters—men like TerrenceElshawe.
Elshawe was a small, lean manwith a large, round head on whichgrew close-cropped, light brownhair. His mouth was wide and full-lipped,and had a distinct tendencyto grin impishly, even when he wastrying to look serious. His eyes werelarge, blue, and innocent; only whenthe light hit them at just the rightangle was it possible to detect thecontact lenses which corrected anacute myopia.
When he was deep in thought, hehad a habit of relaxing in his deskchair with his head back and his eyesclosed. His left arm would be acrosshis chest, his left hand cupping hisright elbow, while the right handheld the bowl of a large-bowledbriar which Elshawe puffed methodicallyduring his ruminations. He wasin exactly that position when OlerWinstein put his head in the doorof Elshawe's office.
"Busy?" Winstein asked conversationally.
In some offices, if the boss comesin and finds an employee in a poselike that, there would be a flurry ofsudden action on the part of theemployee as he tried frantically tolook as though he had only pausedfor a moment from his busy work.Elshawe's only reaction was to openhis eyes. He wasn't the kind of manwho would put on a phony act likethat, even if his boss fired him onthe spot.
"Not particularly," he said, in hisslow, easy drawl. "What's up?"
Winstein came on into the office."I've got something that might makea good spot. See what you think."
If Elshawe didn't conform to thestereotype of a reporter, so much lessdid Oler Winstein conform to thestereotype of a top-flight TV magnate.He was no taller than Elshawe'sfive-seven, and was only slightlyheavier. He wore his hair in a crewcut, and his boyish face made himlook more like a graduate student ata university than the man who hadput Magnum Telenews togetherwith his own hands. He had an office,but he couldn't be found in itmore than half the time; the rest ofthe time, he was prowling aroundthe Magnum Building, wanderinginto studios and offices and workshops.He wasn't checking up on hisemployees, and never gave the impressionthat he was. He didn't throwhis weight around and he didn'tsnoop. If he hired a man for a job,he expected the job to be done, that