Then, even while he smiled, his eyes sobered.
"Poor young one." He sighed and shook his head, then took up the
editorial he was writing on the delinquencies of the local
waterworks administration.
Meanwhile Missy, moving slowly back up Main Street, was walking on
something much softer and springier than the board sidewalk under
her feet.
She didn't notice even the cracks, now. The acquaintances who passed
her, and the people sitting contentedly out on their shady porches,
seemed in a different world from the one she was traversing.
She had never known this kind of happiness before--exploring a dream
country which promised to become real. Now and then a tiny cloud
shadowed the radiance of her emotions: just how would she begin?--
what should she write about and how?--but swiftly her thoughts
flitted back to that soft, warm, undefined deliciousness. . .
Society Editor!--she, Melissa Merriam! Her words would be
immortalized in print! and she would soar up and up. . . Some day,
in the big magazines . . . Everybody would read her name there--all
Cherryvale--and, perhaps, Ridgeley Holman Dobson would chance a
brilliant, authoritative article on some deep, vital subject and
wish to meet the author.
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