n at seeing them there, and then gave
them cheery greeting. Each placed several scribbled sheets before
her, and she, having first assured herself that Fisbee had bought his
overshoes, and having expressed a fear that Mr. Parker had found her
umbrella too small, as he looked damp (and indeed he _was_ damp), cried
praises on their notes and offered the reporters great applause.

"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