Jennie Baxter, Journalist | Page 6

are many things happening in London,
society functions, for instance, where a woman would describe more
accurately what she saw than any man you could send. You have no
idea how full of blunders a man's account of women's dress is as a
general rule, and if you admire accuracy as much as you say, I should
think you would not care to have your paper made a laughing-stock
among society ladies, who never take the trouble to write you a letter

and show you where you are wrong, as men usually do when some
mistake regarding their affairs is made."
"There is probably something in what you say," replied the editor, with
an air of bringing the discussion to a close. "I don't insist that I am right,
but these are my ideas, and while I am editor of this paper I shall stand
by them, so it is useless for us to discuss the matter any further, Miss
Baxter. I will not have a woman as a member of the permanent staff of
the Bugle."
For the third time he looked up at her, and there was dismissal in his
glance.
Miss Baxter said indignantly to herself, "This brute of a man hasn't the
slightest idea that I am one of the best dressed women he has ever met."
But there was no trace of indignation in her voice when she said to him
sweetly, "We will take that as settled. But if upon some other paper, Mr.
Hardwick, I should show evidence of being as good a newspaper
reporter as any member of your staff, may I come up here, and, without
being kept waiting too long, tell you of my triumph?"
"You would not shake my decision," he said.
"Oh, don't say that," she murmured, with a smile. "I am sure you
wouldn't like it if anyone called you a fool."
"Called me a fool?" said the editor sharply, drawing down his dark
brows. "I shouldn't mind it in the least."
"What, not if it were true? You know it would be true, if I could do
something that all your clever men hadn't accomplished. An editor may
be a very talented man, but, after all, his mission is to see that his paper
is an interesting one, and that it contains, as often as possible,
something which no other sheet does."
"Oh, I'll see to that," Mr. Hardwick assured her with resolute
confidence.

"I am certain you will," said Miss Baxter very sweetly; "but now you
won't refuse to let me in whenever I send up my card? I promise you
that I shall not send it until I have done something which will make the
whole staff of the Daily Bugle feel very doleful indeed."
For the first time Mr. Hardwick gave utterance to a somewhat harsh
and mirthless laugh.
"Oh, very well," he said, "I'll promise that."
"Thank you! And good afternoon, Mr. Hardwick. I am so much obliged
to you for consenting to see me. I shall call upon you at this hour
to-morrow afternoon."
There was something of triumph in her smiling bow to him, and as she
left she heard a long whistle of astonishment in Mr. Hardwick's room.
She hurried down the stairs, threw a bewitching glance at the Irish
porter, who came out of his den and whispered to her,--
"It's all right, is it, mum?"
"More than all right," she answered. "Thank you very much indeed for
your kindness."
The porter preceded her out to the waiting hansom and held his arm so
that her skirt would not touch the wheel.
"Drive quickly to the Cafe Royal," she said to the cabman.
When the hansom drew up in front of the Cafe Royal, Miss Jennie
Baxter did not step put of it, but waited until the stalwart servitor in
gold lace, who ornamented the entrance, hurried from the door to the
vehicle. "Do you know Mr. Stoneham?" she asked with suppressed
excitement, "the editor of the Evening Graphite? He is usually here
playing dominoes with somebody about this hour."
"Oh yes, I know him," was the reply. "I think he is inside at this
moment, but I will make certain."

In a short time Mr. Stoneham himself appeared, looking perhaps a trifle
disconcerted at having his whereabouts so accurately ascertained.
"What a blessing it is," said Miss Jennie, with a laugh, "that we poor
reporters know where to find our editors in a case of emergency."
"This is no case of emergency, Miss Baxter," grumbled Stoneham. "If
it's news, you ought to know that it is too late to be of any use for us
to-day."
"Ah, yes," was the quick reply, "but what excellent time I am in with
news for to-morrow!"
"If a man is to live a