"It is all so splendid!" she cried. "How could you do it so quickly? And
in the rain, too! This is exactly what we need. I've done most of the
things I mentioned, I think, and made a draught of some plans for
hereafter. And about that man's coming out for Congress, I must tell you
it is my greatest hope that he will. We can let it go until he does, and
then----But doesn't it seem to you that it would be a good notion for the
'Herald' to have a woman's page--'For Feminine Readers,' or, 'Of Interest
to Women'--once a week?"
"A woman's page!" exclaimed Fisbee. "I could never have thought of that,
could you, Mr. Parker?"
"And now," she continued, "I think that when I've gone over what I've
written and beat it into better shape I shall be ready for something to
eat. Isn't it almost time for luncheon?"
This simple, and surely natural, inquiry had a singular, devastating
effect upon her hearers. They looked upon each other with fallen jaws and
complete stupefaction. The old man began to grow pale, and Parker glared
about him with a wild eye. Fortunately, the editor was too busy at her
work to notice their agitation; she applied herself to making alterations
here and there, sometimes frowningly crossing out whole lines and even
paragraphs, sometimes smiling and beaming at the writing; and, as she bent
earnestly over the paper, against the darkness of the rainy day, the
glamour about her fair hair was like a light in the room. To the minds of
her two companions, this lustre was a gentle but unbearable accusation;
and each dreaded the moment when her Work should be finished, with a great
dread. There was a small "store-room" adjoining the office, and presently
Mr. Parker, sweating at the brow, walked in there. The old man gave him a
look of despairing reproach, but in a moment the foreman's voice was
heard: "Oh, Mr. Fisbee, can you step here a second?"
"Yes, indeed!" was Fisbee's reply; and he fled guiltily into the "store-
room," and Parker closed the door. They stood knee-deep in the clutter and
lumber, facing each other abjectly.
"Well, we're both done, anyway, Mr. Fisbee," remarked the foreman.
"Indubitably, Mr. Parker," the old man answered; "it is too true."
"Never to think a blame thing about dinner for her!" Parker continued,
remorsefully. "And her a lady that can turn off copy like a rotary
snowplough in a Dakota blizzard! Did you see the sheets she's piled up on
that desk?"
"There is no cafe--nothing--in Plattville, that could prepare food worthy
of her," groaned Fisbee. "Nothing!"
"And we never thought of it. Never made a single arrangement. Never struck
us she didn't live on keeping us dry and being good, I guess."