They must have been gone a long time.

"I'll never hear the end of this," Griblo moaned. "Why, if only he could
get someone to fill my place, Stet would fire me like a shot! Not that I
wouldn't quit if I could get another job."

"Oh, it'll be mostly me he'll be mad at." Tarb pulled out her compact.
Stet had warned her not to polish her eyeballs in public, but the ground
with him! Her head hurt. And her feathers, she saw in the mirror, had
turned almost beige. She looked horrible. She felt horrible. And Stet
would probably think she was horrible.

"When Stet's mad," Griblo prophesied darkly, "he's mad at _everybody_!"

And Stet _was_ mad. He was waiting in the newsroom, his emerald-blue
eyes blazing as if he had not only polished but lacquered them.

"What's the idea of taking six hours to cover a simple story!" he
shouted as soon as the door began to open. "Aside from the trivial
matter of a deadline to be met--Griblo, _where's Tarb_? Nothing's
happened to her, has it?"

"Naaah," Griblo said, unslinging his camera. "She took a short cut,
only she got held up by a terrace. Snagged her umbrella on it, I
believe. I heard her yelling when I was waiting for the elevator;
I didn't know nice girls knew language like that. She should be up
any minute now.... There she is."

He pointed to a window, through which the lissome form of the young
feature writer could be seen, tapping on the glass in order to attract
attention.

[Illustration]

"Somebody better open it for her," the cameraman suggested. "Probably
not meant to open from the outside. Not many people come in that way, I
guess."

* * * * *

Open-mouthed, the whole newsroom stared at the window. Finally the Copy
Editor got up and let a dripping Tarb in.

"Nearly thought I wouldn't make it," she observed, shaking herself in a
flurry of wet pink feathers. The rest of the staff ducked, most of them
too late. "Umbrella didn't do much good," she continued, closing it. It
left a little puddle on the rug. "My wings got soaked right away." She
tossed her wet crest out of her eyes. "Golly, but it's good to fly
again. Haven't done it for months, but it seems like years." Her eye
caught Miss Snow's. "You don't know what you're missing!"

"Tarb," Stet thundered, "you've been drinking coffee! _Griblo!_" But the
cameraman had nimbly sought sanctuary in the dark-room.

"You'd better go home, Tarb." When Stet's eye tufts met across his nose