Jennie Baxter, Journalist | Page 2

than her purse could afford. Be that as it
may, Miss Baxter was always most becomingly attired, and her whole
effect was so entrancing that men have been known to turn in the street
as she passed, and murmur, "By Jove!" a phrase that, when you take
into account the tone in which it is said, represents the furthermost
point of admiration which the limited vocabulary of a man about town
permits him to utter; and it says something for the honesty of Jennie's
black eyes, and the straightforwardness of her energetic walk, that none
of these momentary admirers ever turned and followed her.
On this occasion Miss Jennie had paid more than usual attention to her
toilette, for she was about to set out to capture a man, and the man was
no other than Radnor Hardwick, the capable editor of the Daily Bugle,
which was considered at that moment to be the most enterprising
morning journal in the great metropolis. Miss Baxter had done work for
some of the evening papers, several of the weeklies, and a number of
the monthlies, and the income she made was reasonably good, but
hazardously fitful. There was an uncertainty about her mode of life
which was displeasing to her, and she resolved, if possible, to capture
an editor on one of the morning papers, and get a salary that was fixed
and secure. That it should be large was a matter of course, and pretty
Miss Jennie had quite enough confidence in herself to believe she
would earn every penny of it. Quite sensibly, she depended upon her
skill and her industry as her ultimate recommendation to a large salary,
but she was woman enough to know that an attractive appearance might
be of some assistance to her in getting a hearing from the editor, even
though he should prove on acquaintance to be a man of iron, which was
tolerably unlikely. She glanced at the dainty little watch attached to her
wristlet, and saw that it lacked a few minutes of five. She knew the
editor came to his office shortly after three, and remained there until six
or half-past, when he went out to dine, returning at ten o'clock, or
earlier, when the serious work of arranging next day's issue began. She
had not sent a note to him, for she knew if she got a reply it would be
merely a request for particulars as to the proposed interview, and she
had a strong faith in the spoken word, as against that which is written.
At five o'clock the editor would have read his letters, and would
probably have seen most of those who were waiting for him, and Miss

Baxter quite rightly conjectured that this hour would be more
appropriate for a short conversation than when he was busy with his
correspondence, or immersed in the hard work of the day, as he would
be after ten o'clock at night. She had enough experience of the world to
know that great matters often depend for their success on apparent
trivialities, and the young woman had set her mind on becoming a
member of the Daily Bugle staff.
She stepped lightly into the hansom that was waiting for her, and said
to the cabman, "Office of the Daily Bugle, please; side entrance."
The careful toilette made its first impression upon the surly-looking
Irish porter, who, like a gruff and faithful watch-dog, guarded the
entrance to the editorial rooms of the Bugle. He was enclosed in a kind
of glass-framed sentry-box, with a door at the side, and a small arched
aperture that was on a level with his face as he sat on a high stool. He
saw to it, not too politely, that no one went up those stairs unless he had
undoubted right to do so. When he caught a glimpse of Miss Baxter, he
slid off the stool and came out of the door to her, which was an
extraordinary concession to a visitor, for Pat Ryan contented himself,
as, a usual thing, by saying curtly that the editor was busy, and could
see no one.
"What did you wish, miss? To see the editor? That's Mr. Hardwick.
Have ye an appointment with him? Ye haven't; then I very much doubt
if ye'll see him this day, mum. It's far better to write to him, thin ye can
state what ye want, an' if he makes an appointment there'll be no
throuble at all, at all."
"But why should there be any trouble now?" asked Miss Baxter. "The
editor is here to transact business, just as you are at the door to do the
same. I have come on business, and I want to see him. Couldn't you
send up my name to Mr. Hardwick, and