Helen in the Editor's Chair

by Roy J. Snell

  CHAPTER VI _A New Week Dawns_

  Monday morning dawned clear and bright. There were no traces in the skyof the storm which on the previous day had devastated so many farms westof Rolfe. The air was warm with a fragrance and sweetness that only asmall town knows in springtime.

  Helen exchanged greetings with half a dozen people as she hurried downthe street to start her first day at the office as editor of the_Herald_.

  Grant Hughes, the postmaster, was busy sweeping out his office but hestopped his work and called to Helen as she turned down the alley-waywhich led to the _Herald_ office.

  "Starting in bright and early, aren't you?"

  "Have to," smiled Helen, "for Tom and I have only half days in which toput out the paper and do the job work."

  "I know, I know," mused the old postmaster, "but you're chips off the oldblock. You'll make good."

  "Thanks, Mr. Hughes," said Helen. "Your believing in us is going tohelp."

  She hastened on the few steps to the office and opened the doors andwindows for the rooms were close and stuffy after being closed overnight.The young editor of the _Herald_ paused to look around the composingroom. Tom had certainly done a good job cleaning up the day before. Thefour steel forms which would hold the type for the week's edition were inplace, ready for the news she would write and the ads which it would beTom's work to solicit. The Linotype seemed to be watching her in a verysuperior but friendly manner and even the old press was polished andcleaned as never before.

  Helen returned to the editorial office, rolled a sheet of copypaper intoher typewriter, and sat down to write the story of the storm. She mighthave to change certain parts of the story about the condition of theinjured later in the week but she could get the main part of it writtenwhile it was still fresh in her memory.

  Hugh Blair had always made a point of writing his news stories in simpleEnglish and he had drilled Helen and Tom in his belief that the simpler astory is written the more widely it will be read. He had no time for themultitudes of adjectives which many country editors insist upon using,although he felt that strong, colorful words had their place in newsstories.

  With her father's beliefs on news writing almost second nature, Helenstarted her story. It was simple and dramatic, as dramatic as the suddendescent of the storm on the valley. Her fingers moved rapidly over thekeyboard and the story seemed to write itself. She finished one page androlled another into the machine, hardly pausing in her rapid typing.

  Page after page she wrote until she finally leaned back in her swivelchair, tired from the strain of her steady work.

  She picked up the half dozen pages of typed copy. This was her first bigstory and she wanted it to read well, to be something of which her fatherwould be proud when he read the copy of the paper they would send him.She went over the story carefully, changing a word here, another there.Occasionally she operated on some of her sentences, paring down thelonger ones and speeding up the tempo of the story. It was nine-thirtybefore she was satisfied that she had done the best she could and shestuck the story on the copy spindle, ready for Tom when he wanted totranslate it into type on the Linotype.

  Helen slid another sheet of copypaper into her typewriter and headed it"PERSONALS." Farther down the page she wrote four items about out-of-townpeople who were visiting in Rolfe. She had just finished her personalswhen she heard the whistle of the morning train.

  The nine forty-five in the morning and the seven-fifteen in the eveningwere the only trains through Rolfe on the branch line of the A. and T.railroad. The nine forty-five was the upbound train to Cranston, thestate capital. It reached Cranston about one o'clock, turned around thereand started back a little after three, passing through Rolfe on its downtrip early in the evening, its over-night terminal being Gladbrook, thecounty seat.

  Helen picked up a pencil and pad of paper, snapped the lock on the frontdoor and ran for the depot two blocks away. The daily trains were alwaysgood for a few personals. She meant to leave the office earlier but hadlost track of the time, so intense had been her interest in writing herstory of the storm.

  The nine forty-five was still half a mile below town and puffing up thegrade to the station when Helen reached the platform. She spoke to theagent and the express man and hurried into the waiting room. Two womenshe recognized were picking up their suit cases when she entered. Helenexplained her mission and they told her where they were going. She jotteddown the notes quickly for the train was rumbling into town. The localground to a stop and Helen went to the platform to see if anyone hadarrived from the county seat.

  One passenger descended, a tall, austere-looking man whose appearance wasnot in the least inviting but Helen wanted every news item she could getso she approached him, with some misgiving.

  "I'm the editor for the _Rolfe Herald_," she explained, "and I'd like tohave an item about your visit here."

  "You're what?" exclaimed the stranger.

  "I'm the editor of the local paper," repeated Helen, "and I'd like astory about your visit in town."

  "You're pretty young for an editor," persisted the stranger, with a smilethat decidedly changed his appearance and made him look much lessformidable.

  "I'm substituting for my father," said Helen.

  "That quite explains things," agreed the stranger. "I'm Charles King ofCranston, state superintendent of schools, and I'm making a fewinspections around the state. If you'd like, I'll see you again before Ileave and tell you what I think of your school system here."

  "I'm sure you'll thoroughly approve," said Helen. "Mr. Fowler, thesuperintendent, is very progressive and has fine discipline."

  "I'll tell him he has a good booster in the editor," smiled Mr. King."Now, if you'll be good enough to direct me to the school I'll see thatyou get a good story out of my visit here."

  Helen supplied the necessary directions and the state superintendent leftthe depot.

  The nine forty-five, with its combination mail and baggage car and twoday coaches, whistled out and Helen returned to the _Herald_ office.

  She found a farmer from the east side of the valley waiting for her.

  "I'd like to get some sale bills printed," he said, "and I'll need aboutfive hundred quarter page bills. How much will they cost?"

  Helen opened the booklet with job prices listed and gave the farmer aquotation on the job.

  "Sounds fair enough," he said. "At least it's a dollar less than lastyear."

  "Paper doesn't cost quite as much," explained Helen, "and we're passingthe saving on to you. Be sure and tell your neighbors about ourreasonable printing prices."

  "I'll do that," promised the farmer. "I'll bring in the copy Tuesday andget the bills Friday morning."

  "My brother will have them ready for you," said Helen, "but if you wantto get the most out of your sale, why not run your bill as an ad in the_Herald_. On a combination like that we can give you a special price. Youcan have a quarter page ad in the paper plus 500 bills at only a littlemore than the cost of the ad in the paper. It's the cost of setting upthe ad that counts for once it is set up we can run off the bills at verylittle extra cost."

  "How much circulation do you have?"

  "Eight hundred and seventy-five," said Helen. "Three hundred papers go intown and the rest out on the country routes." She consulted her pricebook and quoted the price for the combination ad and bills.

  "I'll take it," agreed the farmer, who appeared to be a keen businessman.

  "Tell you what," he went on. "If you'd work out some kind of a tieup withthe farm bureau at Gladbrook and carry a page with special farm news youcould get a lot of advertising from farmers. If you do, don't use'canned' news sent out by agricultural schools. Get the county agent towrite a column a week and then get the rest of it from farmers aroundhere. Have items about what they are doing, how many hogs they arefeeding, how much they get for their cattle, when they market them andnews of their club activities."

  "Sounds like a fine ide
a," said Helen, "but we'll have to go a littleslowly at first. My brother and I are trying to run the paper while Dadis away recovering his health and until we get everything going smoothlywe can't attempt very many new things."

  "You keep it in mind," said the farmer, "for I tell you, we people on thefarms like to see news about ourselves in the paper and it would meanmore business for you. Well, I've got to be going. I'll bring my copy intomorrow."

  "We'll be expecting it," said Helen. "Thanks for the business."

  She went around to the postoffice and returned with a handful of letters.Most of them were circulars but one of them was a card from her father.She read it with such eagerness that her hands trembled. It had beenwritten while the train was speeding through southwestern Kansas and herfather said that he was not as tired from the train trip as he hadexpected. By the time they received the card, he added, he would be atRubio, Arizona, where he was to make his home until he was well enough toreturn to the more rigorous climate of the north.

  Helen telephoned her mother at once and read the message on the card.

  "I'm going to write to Dad and tell him all about the storm and how happywe are that everything is going well for him," said Helen.

  "I'll write this afternoon," said her mother, "and we'll put the lettersin one envelope and get them off on the evening mail. Perhaps Tom willfind time to add a note."

  Helen sat down at the desk, found several sheets of office stationery anda pen, and started her letter to her father. She was half way throughwhen Jim Preston entered.

  "Good morning, Miss Blair," he said. "I've got the _Liberty_ ready to goif you'd like to run down the lake and see how much damage the twistercaused at the summer resorts."

  "Thanks," replied Helen, "I'll be with you right away." She put herletter aside and closed the office. Five minutes later they were at themain pier on the lakeshore.

  The _Liberty_, a sturdy, 28-foot cruiser, was moored to the pier. Thelight oak hood covering the engine shone brightly in the morning sun andHelen could see that Jim Preston had waxed it recently. The hood extendedfor about fourteen feet back from the bow of the boat, completelyenclosing the 60 horsepower engine which drove the craft. The steeringwheel and ignition switches were mounted on a dash and behind this werefour benches with leather covered cork cushions which could be used aslife preservers.

  The boatman stepped into the _Liberty_ and pressed the starter. There wasthe whirr of gears and the muffled explosions from the underwater exhaustas the engine started. The _Liberty_ quivered at its moorings, anxious tobe away and cutting through the tiny whitecaps which danced in thesunshine.

  Helen bent down and loosened the half hitches on the ropes which held theboat. Jim Preston steadied it while she stepped in and took her place onthe front seat beside him.

  The boatman shoved the clutch ahead, the tone of the motor deepened andthey moved slowly away from the pier. With quickening pace, they sped outinto the lake, slapping through the white caps faster and faster untiltiny flashes of spray stung Helen's face.

  "How long will it take us to reach Crescent Beach?" asked Helen for sheknew the boatman made his first stop at the new resort at the far end ofthe lake.

  "It's nine miles," replied Jim Preston. "If I open her up we'll be downthere in fifteen or sixteen minutes. Want to make time?"

  "Not particularly," replied Helen, "but I enjoy a fast ride."

  "Here goes," smiled Preston and he shoved the throttle forward.

  The powerful motor responded to the increased fuel and the _Liberty_shook herself and leaped ahead, cutting a v-shaped swath down the centerof the lake. Solid sheets of spray flew out on each side of the boat andPreston put up spray boards to keep them from being drenched.

  Helen turned around and looked back at Rolfe, nestling serenely along thenorth end of the lake. It was a quiet, restful scene, the white housesshowing through the verdant green of the new leaves. She could see herown home and thought she glimpsed her mother working in the garden at therear.

  Then the picture faded as they sped down the lake and Helen gave herselfup to complete enjoyment of the boat trip.

  There were few signs along the shore of the storm. After veering awayfrom Rolfe it had evidently gone directly down the lake until it reachedthe summer resorts.

  In less than ten minutes Rolfe had disappeared and the far end of thelake was in view. Preston slowed the _Liberty_ somewhat and swung acrossthe lake to the left toward Crescent Beach, the new resort which severalwealthy men from the state capital were promoting.

  They slid around a rocky promontory and into view of the resort.Boathouses dipped crazily into the water and the large bath-house, themost modern on the lake, had been crushed while the toboggan slide hadbeen flipped upside down by the capricious wind.

  The big pier had collapsed and Preston nosed the _Liberty_ carefullyin-shore until the bow grated on the fresh, clean sand of the beach.

  Kirk Foster, the young manager of the resort, was directing a crew of menwho were cleaning up the debris.

  The boatman introduced Helen to the manager and he willingly gave her allthe details about the damage. The large, new hotel had escaped unharmedand the private cottages, some of which were nicer than the homes inRolfe, had suffered only minor damage.

  "The damage to the bathhouse, about $35,000, was the heaviest," said themanager, "but don't forget to say in your story that we'll have thingsfixed up in about two weeks, and everything is insured."

  "I won't," promised Helen, "and when you have any news be sure and let meknow."

  "We cater to a pretty ritzy crowd," replied the manager, "and we ought tohave some famous people here during the summer. I'll tip you off wheneverI think there is a likely story."

  Jim Preston left the mail for the resort and they returned to theLiberty, backed out carefully, and headed across the lake for SandyPoint, a resort which had been on the lake for more years than Helencould remember.

  Sandy Point was popular with the townspeople and farmers and was knownfor its wonderful bathing beach. Lake Dubar was shallow there and it wassafe for almost anyone to enjoy the bathing at Sandy Point.

  The old resort was not nearly as pretentious as Crescent Beach for itsbathhouses, cottages and hotel were weather beaten and vine-covered. ArtProvost, the manager, was waiting for the morning mail when the Libertychurned up to the pier.

  "Storm missed you," said the boatman.

  "And right glad I am that it did," replied Provost. "I thought we weregoners when I saw it coming down the lake but it swung over east and tookits spite out on Crescent Beach. Been over there yet?"

  "Stopped on the way down," replied Jim Preston. "They suffered a good bitof damage but will have it cleaned up in a couple or three days."

  "Glad to hear that," said Provost, "that young manager, Foster, is a finefellow."

  Helen inquired for news about the resort and was told that it would beanother week, about the first of June, before the season would be underway.

  They left Sandy Point and headed up the lake, this time at a leisurelytwenty miles an hour. Helen enjoyed every minute of the trip, drinking inthe quiet beauty of the lake, its peaceful hills and the charm of thefarms with their cattle browsing contentedly in the pastures.

  It was noon when they docked at Rolfe and Helen, after thanking theboatman, went home instead of returning to the office.

  Tom had come from school and lunch was on the table. Helen told herbrother of the sale of the quarter page ad for the paper and the 500bills.

  "That's fine," said Tom, "but you must have looked on the wrong page inthe cost book."

  "Didn't I ask enough?"

  "You were short about fifty cents," grinned Tom, "but we'll make a profiton the job, especially since you got him to run it as an ad in thepaper."

  "What are you going to do this afternoon?" Mrs. Blair asked Tom.

  "I'll make the rounds of the stores and see what business I can line upfor the paper," said the business manager of the _Herald_. "Then ther
eare a couple of jobs of letterheads I'll have to get out of the way andby the time I get them printed the metal in the Linotype will be hot andI can set up Helen's editorials and whatever other copy she got readythis morning."

  "The storm story runs six pages," said Helen, "and when I add a fewparagraphs about the summer resorts, it will take another page. Is it toolong?"

  "Not if it is well written."

  "You'll have to judge that for yourself."

  "I walked home with Marg Stevens," said Tom, "and she said to tell youthe sophomore picnic planned for this afternoon has been postponed untilFriday. A lot of the boys from the country have to go home early and helpclean up the storm damage."

  "Suits me just as well," said Helen, "for we'll have the paper off thepress Thursday and I'll be ready for a picnic Friday."

  Tom went to the office after lunch and Helen walked to school withMargaret. Just before the assembly was called to order, one of theteachers came down to Helen's desk and told her she was wanted in thesuperintendent's office. When Helen reached the office she foundSuperintendent Fowler and Mr. King, the state superintendent of schools,waiting for her. The state superintendent greeted her cordially and toldSuperintendent Fowler how Helen had met him at the train.

  "I promised to give her a story about my visit," he explained, "and Ithought this would be a good time."

  Superintendent Fowler nodded his agreement and the state school leadercontinued.

  "I hope you'll consider it good news," he told Helen, "when I say thatthe Rolfe school has been judged the finest in the state for towns underone thousand inhabitants."

  "It certainly is news," said Helen. "Mr. Fowler has worked hard in thetwo years he has been here and the _Herald_ will be glad to have thisstory."

  "I thought you would," said Mr. King, and he told Helen in detail of theimprovement which had been made in the local school in the last two yearsand how much attention it was attracting throughout the state.

  "You really ought to have a school page in the local paper," he toldHelen in concluding.

  "Perhaps we will next fall," replied the young editor of the _Herald_."By that time Tom and I should be veterans in the newspaper game and ableto add another page of news to the _Herald_."

  "We'll talk it over next August when I come back to get things in shapefor the opening of the fall term," said Superintendent Fowler. "I'mheartily in favor of one if Tom and Helen can spare the time and thespace it will require."

  Helen returned to the assembly with the handful of notes she had jotteddown while Mr. King talked. Her American History class had gone to itsclassroom and she picked up her textbook and walked down the assembly,inquiring eyes following her, wondering why she had been called into thesuperintendent's office. They'd have to read the _Herald_ to find outthat story.