The drizzle and mist blew in under the top of the cut-under as they drove

rapidly into town, and bright little drops sparkled on the fair hair above

the new editor's forehead and on the long lashes above the new editor's

cheeks.

She shook these transient gems off lightly, as she paused in the doorway

of the office at the top of the rickety stairway. Mr. Schofield had just

added the last touch to his decorations and managed to slide into his coat

as the party came up the stairs, and now, perspiring, proud, embarrassed,

he assumed an attitude at once deprecatory of his endeavors and pointedly

expectant of commendation for the results. (He was a modest youth and a

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conscious; after his first sight of her, as she stood in the doorway, it

was several days before he could lift his distressed eyes under her

glance, or, indeed, dare to avail himself of more than a hasty and

fluttering stare at her when her back was turned.) As she entered the

room, he sidled along the wall and laughed sheepishly at nothing.

Every chair in the room was ornamented with one of his blue rosettes,

tied carefully (and firmly) to the middle slat of each chair-back. There

had been several yards of ribbon left over, and there was a hard knot of

glossy satin on each of the ink-stands and on the door-knobs; a blue band,

passing around the stovepipe, imparted an antique rakishness suggestive of

the charioteer; and a number of streamers, suspended from a hook in the

ceiling, encouraged a supposition that the employees of the "Herald"

contemplated the intricate festivities of May Day. It needed no genius to

infer that these garnitures had not embellished the editorial chamber

during Mr. Harkless's activity, but, on the contrary, had been put in

place that very morning. Mr. Fisbee had not known of the decorations, and,

as his glance fell upon them, a faint look of pain passed over his brow;

but the girl examined the room with a dancing eye, and there were both

tears and laughter in her heart.

"How beautiful!" she cried. "How beautiful!" She crossed the room and gave

her hand to Ross. "It is Mr. Schofield, isn't it? The ribbons are

delightful. I didn't know Mr. Harkless's room was so pretty."

Ross looked out of the window and laughed as he took her hand (which he

shook with a long up and down motion), but he was set at better ease by

her apparent unrecognition of the fact that the decorations were for her.

"Oh, it ain't much, I reckon," he replied, and continued to look out of

the window and laugh.

She went to the desk and removed her gloves and laid her rain-coat over a

chair near by. "Is this Mr. Harkless's chair?" she asked, and, Fisbee

answering that it was, she looked gravely at it for a moment, passed her

hand gently over the back of it, and then, throwing the rain-cloak over

another chair, said cheerily: "Do you know, I think the first thing for us to do will be to dust

everything very carefully."




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