"What do you say to five dollars a week?" he asked.
Five dollars a week!--Five dollars every week! And earned by
herself! Missy's eyes grew big as suns.
"Is that satisfactory?"
"Oh, YES!"
"Well, then," he said, "I'll give you free rein. Just get your copy
in by Wednesday night--we go to press Thursdays--and I promise to
read every word of it myself."
"Oh," she said.
There were a thousand questions she'd have liked to ask, but Ed
Martin, smiling a queer kind of smile, had turned to his papers as
if anxious to get at them. No; she mustn't begin by bothering him
with questions. He was a busy man, and he'd put this new, big
responsibility on HER--"a free rein," he had said. And she must live
up to that trust; she must find her own way--study up the problem of
society editing, which, even if not her ideal, yet was a wedge to
who-knew-what? And meanwhile perhaps she could set a new standard
for society columns--brilliant and clever . . .
Missy left the Beacon office, suffused with emotions no pen, not
even her own, could ever have described.
Ed Martin, safely alone, allowed himself the luxury of an extensive
grin.
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