d Deptford. No speeches! No news! It's not a news story at
all. It's an editorial, and an essay, and a spring poem. I don't know
what it is. And, what's worse," wailed the copy editor defiantly and
to the amazement of all, "it's so darned good that you can't touch it.
You've got to let it go or kill it."

The eyes of the managing editor, masked by his green paper shade,
were racing over Sam's written words. He thrust the first page back at
Collins.

"Is it all like that?"

"There's a column like that!"

"Run it just as it is," commanded the managing editor. "Use it for your
introduction and get your story from the flimsy. And, in your head, cut
out Flagg entirely. Call it 'The Red Cross Girl.' And play it up strong
with pictures." He turned on Sam and eyed him curiously.

"What's the idea, Ward?" he said. "This is a newspaper--not a magazine!"

The click of the typewriters was silent, the hectic rush of the pencils
had ceased, and the staff, expectant, smiled cynically upon the star
reporter. Sam shoved his hands into his trousers pockets and also
smiled, but unhappily.

"I know it's not news, Sir," he said; "but that's the way I saw the
story--outside on the lawn, the band playing, and the governor and the
governor's staff and the clergy burning incense to Flagg; and inside,
this girl right on the job--taking care of the sick and wounded. It
seemed to me that a million from a man that won't miss a million didn't
stack up against what this girl was doing for these sick folks! What I
wanted to say," continued Sam stoutly "was that the moving spirit of the
hospital was not in the man who signed the checks, but in these women
who do the work--the nurses, like the one I wrote about; the one you
called 'The Red Cross Girl.'"

Collins, strong through many years of faithful service, backed by the
traditions of the profession, snorted scornfully.

"But it's not news!"

"It's not news," said Elliott doubtfully; "but it's the kind of story
that made Frank O'Malley famous. It's the kind of story that drives
men out of this business into the arms of what Kipling calls 'the
illegitimate sister.'"

It seldom is granted to a man on the same day to give his whole heart to
a girl and to be patted on the back by his managing editor; and it was
this combination, and not the drinks he dispensed to the staff in return
for its congratulations, that sent Sam home walking on air. He loved his
business, he was proud of his busines