The foreman, unable to
decline it, thanked her awkwardly, and, as she turned to speak to Fisbee,
bolted out of the door and ran down the steps without unfolding the
umbrella; and as he made for Mr. Martin's emporium, he buttoned it
securely under his long "Prince Albert," determined that not a drop of
water should touch and ruin so delicate a thing. Thus he carried it,
triumphantly dry, through the course of his reportings of that day.
When he had gone the editor laid her hand on Fisbee's arm. "Dear," she
said, "do you think you would take cold if you went over to the hotel and
made a note of all the arrivals for the last week--and the departures,
too? I noticed that Mr. Harkless always filled two or three--sticks, isn't
it?--with them and things about them, and somehow it 'read' very nicely.
You must ask the landlord all about them; and, if there aren't any, we can
take up the same amount of space lamenting the dull times, just as he used
to. You see I've read the 'Herald' faithfully; isn't it a good thing I
always subscribed for it?" She patted Fisbee's cheek, and laughed gaily
into his mild, vague old eyes.
"It won't be this scramble to 'fill up' much longer. I have plans,
gentlemen," she cried, "and before long we will print news. And we must
buy 'plate matter' instead of 'patent insides'; and I had a talk with the
Associated Press people in Rouen--but that's for afterwhile.
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