Dorothy Dale (A Girl of To-Day) | Page 5

the woman replied, now venturing to poke her
uncombed head out of doors, thinking, evidently that the mere mention
of money was the most powerful antiseptic known. "Of course Johnnie
will be too pleased. I'll send him any time you say."
Secretly glad that her mother had so promptly overcome her fear of the
fever, but also ashamed that her motive should be so flagrant, Tavia
slipped on her things and joined her companion.
"I wouldn't keep you another minute," she began, "for I know just how
anxious you are. But I'm going along to help. I can go on errands at
least, and keep you company."
"Oh, Tavia, dear, perhaps you had better go to school. On account of
the trouble yesterday, teacher will think we are both defying her."
"Then let her send the Lady Sarah to find out," retorted Tavia. "I would
show her if I had freckles on my tongue."
"Please don't talk so, Tavia, it is wrong--"
"Wrong? My father says there are some men in this world too mean to
bother the law about. He says he knows one he would like to thresh
only he is sure the sneak would not hit him back, but would have him
arrested. Physical punishment is the kind for such, father declares. And

that's just the way I feel about Lady Sarah. I would not tell teacher on
her, for that would give her a chance to 'crawl,' as Johnnie calls being
mean. So sticking my tongue out at her is the nearest I can come to
physical punishment."
This doctrine did not in any way coincide with the upright views of
Dorothy, but she knew argument would be useless. Besides, her head
and heart were too full of other things to bother about school girl
troubles.
"Are you going to print the whole paper?" Tavia asked, with amusing
ignorance of the ways of the Great American Press.
"Why, no, dear, I could not print it. Ralph must do that."
"Oh, I know. Just put things in it."
"I may have to write some," Dorothy replied, with an important air.
"The parade story was not written. Father intended to do that."
"Oh, goody!" went on the irrepressible Tavia. "Say that the meanest
girl in school, Miss Sarah Ford, was chosen, at the last moment, to lead
the girls, owing to the sudden illness of Miss Dorothy Dale, the most
popular girl in school, who took a headache from the sun, but later
recovered in time to carry a Betsy Ross flag, along with her dear friend,
Miss Octavia Travers, the flags being presented to the girls by Major
Dale. There now, how's that?" and Tavia fairly beamed at the very idea
of having her "story" printed.
"I declare, Tavia, you can string words together, as father would say.
But we cannot say anything against any one. That would bring on
lawsuits, you know."
"Oh yes, I know. It's just as pa says: some folks are too mean for
anything but a good thrashing--and that's Sarah. But I'll do anything I
can to help you, and I hope I won't get the Bugle into any lawsuits."
Dorothy thanked her, and remarked that it was not likely.

By this time they had reached the newspaper office. Up two flights of
stairs, over the post-office and drug store, the girls found the much-
perplexed Ralph Willoby waiting anxiously for his employer.
Ralph was that kind of a young man whom people trust at once. He was
known all over Dalton as a most zealous worker in the "Liquor
Crusade," that was being very actively carried on in the town. He had a
firm face, and deep, clear eyes. The major used to say his eyes could
talk faster than his tongue--and he knew how to converse well, too.
He had his sleeves rolled up, and was bending over a pile of "copy"
when the girls entered the office. He brushed his sleeves down and rose
to hear their message.
"Father is ill," began Dorothy weakly, for inside the office its
difficulties seemed to crush her.
"And we're going to get the paper out," blurted Tavia, trying to grasp
the wonders of a real newspaper office in a single sweeping glance.
"Can't he come down?" and the young man's voice betrayed his
anxiety.
"I'm afraid not," went on Dorothy. "He said we were to do the best we
could. I was to help--"
"And I guess I'm to sell the papers. Hurry up and print some. Is this the
printing press?" Tavia rattled on.
"But the parade," demurred Ralph, "it is not even written. I can manage
the press well enough, but our reporter Mr. Thomas, has not come in
this morning. I suppose yesterday was too much for him."
"I think I