She was, in fact, bound for the office of the Beacon--the local
weekly. And thoughts of what tremendous possibilities might be
stretching out from this very hour, and of what she would say to Ed
Martin, the editor, made her feet now skim along impatiently, and
now slow down with sudden, self-conscious shyness.
For Missy, even when there was no steadily nearing imminence of
having to reveal her soul, on general principles was a little in awe
of Ed Martin and his genial ironies. Ed Martin was not only a local
celebrity. His articles were published in the big Eastern magazines.
He went "back East" once a year, and it was said that on one
occasion he had dined with the President himself. Of course that was
only a rumour; but Cherryvale had its own eyes for witness that
certain persons had stopped off in town expressly to see Ed Martin--
personages whose names made you take notice!
Missy, her feet terribly reluctant now, her soul's song barely a
whisper, found Ed Martin shirt-sleeved in his littered little
sanctum at the back of the Beacon office.
"Why, hello, Missy!" he greeted, swinging round leisurely in his
revolving-chair.
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