"
"You remember I was confident she would know precisely where to begin?"
was Fisbee's earnest whisper in the willing ear of the long foreman. "Not
an instant's indecision, was there?"
"No, siree!" replied the other; and, as he went down to the press-room to
hunt for a feather-duster which he thought might be found there, he
collared Bud Tipworthy, who, not admitted to the conclave of his
superiors, was whistling on the rainy stairway. "You hustle and find that
dust brush we used to have. Bud," said Parker. And presently, as they
rummaged in the nooks and crannies about the machinery, he melted to his
small assistant. "The paper is saved, Buddie--saved by an angel in light
brown. You can tell it by the look of her."
"Gee!" said Bud.
Mr. Schofield had come, blushing, to join them. "Say, Cale, did you notice
the color of her eyes?"
"Yes; they're gray."
"I thought so, too, show day, and at Kedge Halloway's lecture; but, say,
Cale, they're kind of changeable. When she come in upstairs with you and
Fisbee, they were jest as blue!--near matched the color of our ribbons."
"Gee!" repeated Mr. Tipworthy.
When the editorial chamber had been made so Beat that it almost glowed--
though it could never be expected to shine as did Fisbee and Caleb Parker
and Ross Schofield that morning--the editor took her seat at the desk and
looked over the few items the gentlemen had already compiled for her
perusal.
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