VERNONIA EAGLE, VERNONIA, OREGON
MAIDEN V O YA G E
Copyright, Kathleen Norris.
KATHLEEN NORRIS
SYNOPSIS
Antoinette Taft, twenty-three, at
tractive and ambitious but unable to
hold a job, lives In a drab San Fran
cisco flat with her sister Brenda and
brother Cliff, who are older, her sev.
enteen-year-old brother Bruce, and
their Aunt Meg. In her job hunting
rounds she interviews Lawrence Bel
lamy, editor of the Journal of Com
merce, but finds he has no place for
a woman writer. She likes him very
much, as she tells Brenda later. Dif
fident Barney Kerr drops in, asking
where Cliff is. Barney has his eye
on Tony, but she despises him. Tony
gets a telephone call from Mr. Green
wood, city editor of the Call, offering
her a job as society reporter. Cliff,
returning just then, accompanies
Tony to the newspaper office.
CHAPTER III—Continued
Cliff opened the door, and Tony
had her first look at the city room.
It angled the entire width of the
building on two sides. The third
side, she was presently to learn,
was the Sunday paper department,
and the fourth was variously divid
ed by the library, the files, the pho
tographers’ lairs. Down below were
the business offices, imposing in
heavy chairs and eucalyptus pan
eling; up here everything was con
fusion, disorder, haste.
The Instant her nostrils caught
the first scent of it she knew that
she belonged here; that this was
her world, her battlefield, her first
love.
Men were everywhere;
shouting, smoking.
Typewriters
were clicking; there was a ripping
sound as paper was torn from
them; there was a constant eccen
tric chatter of a telegraph machine
from the wide littered desk marked
"Associated Press.”
Mr. Charles Greenwood was a
dark little weasel of a man who
occupied a corner desk shut away
from the general office only by a
nicked and battered fence of dark
wood with a gate. Tony was ush
ered Into his Immediate neighbor
hood.
The desk before the city editor
was heaped high with the society
pages of recent Sunday papers. He
had evidently been clipping and
pasting desperately; he Indicated a
drawer full of uninviting-looking
letters.
“We got to have a page of this
stuff, good,” he said “for Madame
La Duchesse. That’s the swell stuff,
see—the Burlingame crowd, the la-
dl-dahs, see? You know that crowd,
don’t you?” he broke off to ask
suspiciously, looking up at Tony.
“Well,” Tony answered firmly,
without the flicker of an eyelid.
“Well, now, look here.
You’ll
have 'Ducky’s’ desk; that’s what
the boys called our last Madame,"
Greenwood broke off to say, ai>-
peallng to their sympathy. “She
was a hellion; she’s left everything
In a mess I Now, when you came
here to leave your name—when
was that?”
"Three times since Christmas,”
Tony reminded him.
"You said that you thought you
could handle it?” His eye was sus
picious again.
“I can.”
“Y’understand that every Thurs
day we’ve got to have a whole page
of It with two photos?”
Her heart failed her for a sec
ond.
"Certainly,” Tony said, with a re
assuring nod.
“You can clip a lot of it for
tomorrow, see?” the harassed
Greenwood
further
explained.
“Look over the papers; I’ve got the
Oakland papers here too, and pick
out whatever looks good to you. I
won’t be here, but you give it to
Mr. Florence — he’s that drunk
lookin’ crook over there.
“Get It ail together and hand it
tn before ten tomorrow night And
you’ll have to get your own col
umn, too—say about sixteen Items
—get ’em good, because we’ve been
running down lately.
You run
round among your friends, and
you’ll pick ’em up easy. Then, If
you run Into any good club stuff
—women scrapping—bring that In,
that’s always good. Keep your eyes
open—oh, and by the way, you’ll
do that dance down at the Burlin
game club next week, will you?”
“Certainly,” Tony agreed, her
head spinning.
“All right, then—you take all this
stuff along to your desk—Mac
Grath!” shouted the city editor,
“help Miss—help Miss Taft to take
all this stuff to the Duck's desk,
will you, and rustle her up a type
writer somewhere, and get her
some paper. She’s going to do our
Sunday page tomorrow, and boy,
will it be good! All right, Miss
Taft, I’ll see you Friday — keep
your shirt on, and ask the boys
for anything you want. Oh, and by
the way, root us out a couple of
good pictures tomorrow for Sun
day. I didn't get round to it!”
Tony and Clifford and the amia
bly burdened MacGrath went to a
cluttered desk by a black window
that was trickling rain. Everyone
looked at them; Tony did not dare
raise her eyes.
She found her new domain fright
fully dirty and the typewriter
frame empty.
“I’ll have Laren get you a type
writer downstairs,” said Mac
Grath, in embarrassed apology.
“Looky, here's the book they keep
the names in—who’s in society, and
who's married to whose sisters,
and all that.”
Tony clutched the shabby leather
record eagerly.
“Oh, that’ll be priceless!”
“He’s all right,” confided Mac
Grath, with a jerk of his head
toward the city editor's desk, “only
he cusses a lot.”
"Is there a man named Burke
working here?” Clifford now found
a lull in which to ask.
“Sure. Spike, where’s Burke?
WNU Service.
rassment dried his face and hands,
rolled down his sleeves, put on a
collar and combed his thick red
hair, they told him what was do
ing, and Tony beamed hopefully
Into his pleasant red-brown eyes.
“Sure, you can work that so
ciety racket like a shot!” Joe Burke
told her heartenlngly. “It's soft.”
“Oh, 1 hope It Is!” Tony said,
with a smile, with a lift of thick
lashes, with a great rise of her
heart.
“Listen, let’s eat,” Mr. Burke said
abruptly.
They went up Market street to
Lorenzo’s, where Tony and Cliff
had hot delicious “balf-and-halfs”
and toast, and Joe had a limp pink
veal cutlet that had been seized
from a long damp pan of cutlets
displayed In Lorenzo's window,
rolled In egg and crumbs, black
ened In a pan of hot grease, smoth
ered in gory catsup and served
smoking hot with fried potatoes
within the space of six minutes.
The little restaurant with the
window grill was bright and warm
on the rainy night; the clock stood
at twelve, and Tony felt excited
and happy. This was living! There
were several men having veal
chops and oyster stews In Loren
zo's, and presently her brother was
surprised to see her flush and smile
a little self-consciously and bow to
one of them.
“Who’s that?”
“It's Mr. Bellamy of the Jour
nal."
“That’s right, too," said Joe. “1
don’t know him, but I’ve seen him
in here before. He’s pretty thick
with old Arnoldson on our paper.
Arnoldson told Fitch—Fitch Is the
managing editor—that he thought
Bellamy was the smartest man on
the coast, except maybe Anders
down In Fresno."
Tony -knew that the man who
was having oysters at the counter
was watching her; she looked ab-
sorbedly at Joe.
“Is Mr. Greenwood smart, Mr.
Burke?”
“He Is and he Isn't," said Joe.’
“He's a terrible souse.
Here's
Moore. Sit down, Buck. This Is
the new society editor, Miss Taft.
Miss Taft, Buck Moore, of the
Sunday edition. You’ll have to see
a lot of old Buck!"
Tony hardly heard him. She was
thrilled; she was happy. The ro
mantic dark, brilliant Mr. Bellamy
had seen her alone and forlorn and
supplicatory this morning In the
dreary rain; he saw her tonight
with three good-looking men hav
ing oysters at Lorenzo’s. And to
Mr. Moore she had been Introduced
as the Call's society editor.
CHAPTER IV
IT was good to have a job
O H, again,
and to have It spring,
Tony Had Her First Look at the
City Room.
He's usually In the sports,” said
MacGrath. “Here he Is!”
He smote the shirted back of a
stalwart young man who was wash
ing not only his face, but his whole
head and his arms up to the elbow
at one of the basins. This person,
dripping and sudsy, turned about
with a loud “Quit!”
“Oh, hello, Cliff,” Joe Burke
said, then added, beaming over the
filthy roller towel In a froth of
white, "Hello, Miss Taft — say,
what a break! What’s doing?”
While he quite without embar
and morning, and to be twenty-
three!
Tony awakened eagerly,
dressed with enthusiasm, finished
her breakfast, and piled her cof
fee cup and berry saucer In the
sink. Then came a blank.
“How do you suppose I can get
those photographs for Sunday,
Bendy?”
“I’ve been wondering,” Brenda
said. “Would any of the photogra
phers help out, do you think?”
“I don't think they'd be allowed
to give out pictures for the papers.
Just the same, they're my best
bet!” Tony decided uneasily. She
left the house at nine o'clock and
went to six photographers. It was
always the same. It was not per
mitted ; they said they were sorry.
At five minutes to one she wenl
into the newspaper office, all the
first enthusiasm of the new job
clouded by a sense of fear and
failure. She hung up her hat and
coat In the office and confided her
problem to Joe Burke.
"Oh, shucks,” Joe said, "I’ll tell
you what you can do. Look over the
other Sunday papers for the last
few weeks, and telephone the stu
dios for what you want."
“But I’ve Just been to the stu
dios, and they were awfully mean!"
“They won’t be, If you want pic
tures that have been used. Or
telephone the girls, If you like."
Joe suggested easily, “and say that
you are going to use an old pic
ture and would like permission to
have • new one.”
“YJs, blit have we old pictures?"
“Lord, haven't you seen the gal
lery?"
He took her In there, and she
began to feel excited and happy
and confident again.
When she
There Were Bad Hours as Well as
Good.
came back to her desk she tele
phoned a downtown studio firmly,
authoritatively. This was the so
ciety editor of the Call speaking.
“I can have the prints there for
you In an hour,” the voice prom
ised. Tony felt almost giddy with
relief, and laughed aloud.
Tony worked away industriously.
She clipped, pasted, counted words,
her face grew hot and her hair
tumbled; it seemed to her that a
tide of paper was rising steadily
about her,
Mr. Florence, acting for the ab
sent editor, asked her for her
“stuff” for tomorrow. Tony pro
duced It anxiously. He took It
without comment; presently came
back to ask: “Oughtn’t we have the
Harriman bridesmaids?”
"Oh, should we?” Tony asked
agitatedly, her heart hammering
and her mouth dry. “How do I—
shall I go out there?"
“No, 1'11 get ’em for you," a nice
boy named Slosser volunteered laz
ily, from the adjoining desk. He
whirled the leaves of a telephone
book that was fluffed up to three
times its size. “That’s the Paul
Harrlmans,” he muttered. Present
ly he was penciling hurriedly; he
tossed a scribbled sheet to Tony's
desk. “Here they are!" he told her
carelessly. “You fix ’em up.”
Her telephone rang; she an
swered It apprehensively. But It
was the apathetic Henrietta on the
switchboard; Miss Taft’s sister was
there, and should she send her in?
Tony went eagerly to the door
to meet Brenda, not quite sure that
Brenda had any right here, but all
the more welcome for that.
“Darling, do you come home to
dinner?”
“I don't know. I could ask Mr.
Florence.”
They went together to Mr. Flor
ence’s desk, and he assured Tony
heartily that of course she could
go home to dinner; she was tired,
she’d been working like a Turk—
couldn't one of the boys finish up
the Sunday page?
Oh, no, no, no, Miss Taft would
be back In about an hour, she had
It all in line.
She went back to the office
through the black night with a
singing heart, and the hot city
room, when she reached it, with the
buys lounging about, and the type
writers going, telephone bells tink
ling and shouts and racket on
every side seemed to her the most
satisfying spot she had ever known
in her life.
CHAPTER V
nervous excitement persist
T HE
ed for days—for weeks. There
were bad hours as well as good.
Tony learned that a newspaper of
fice, like an army camp. Is a fer
tile place for rumors, and most of
theu; were alarming. Almost every
week there was dark talk of a
complete change In management,
and no reporter felt sure of himself,
even from day to day. An especially
glib, strange, young man, or well-
dressed, unknown young woman,
observed to be deep In talk with
Greenwood, spread general appre
hension.
She had accepted Barney’s hu
miliating suggestions In serious
earnest; she would take no chances
on this job. Tony was always the
first to reach the office, the most
punctual with her work.
She
brushed her hair back slickly and
saw to It that her cuffs and col
lar were In trim. Over such mis
takes as she made she showed so
horrified a contrition that Green
wood's reproofs often turned Into
good-natured laughter.
“Well, listen here — no harm
done. Old Mrs. Rufus Waite got
mad because she hasn’t ever for
given George for marrying as he
did, and you put the Georges at her
big ball. Don't do It again, that's
all.”
Tony would go back to her desk
to take out the Indispensable old
leather book and turn to the page-
tab marked “W.” Under “Waites”
she would carefully write “old Mrs.
R. hates Georges—his wife Caro
lyn Petty, light opera.”
She was often late at the office
as autumn came on with affairs
for the debutantes and the re
opening of city houses, and she
loved every minute of it. Aunt
Meggy, assisted more often by col
ored Asterbel now, Insisted that
Tony sleep late; there was some
thing very agreeable about awaken
ing at nine instead of seven o'clock,
and coming out to the sitting room
for late coffee and blackberries
and the newspaper and Aunt Meg
gy’s contented chat. It was not
only one’s natural liking for ease,
Tony thought; It went deeper.
There was something In this
changed routine that flattered her
pride, that pride that had been
so cruelly hurt and lowered In the
long humiliating months when Tony
had been the member of the fam
ily who lost jobs — was fired—
couldn’t help with the family’s
financial problems.
Now they saw, all of them, that
she wasn't lazy, that she did like
work! She was a professional
woman now, absorbed and busy,
well paid and content, and her
hours deserved respect.
At ten o’clock every morning she
began her rounds: perhaps a call
at one of the fashionable wom
en's clubs, perhaps a visit to some
kindly society woman who had of
fered to help her out with news.
Always she went In, on her way
to the office, to see Brenda In the
bookstore, busy and sweet and help
ful among the books, and usually
with some Items gleaned from het
morning's work.
From Brenda she would go to the
office, where much of her copy
was secured by telephone. Tony
came to know that the society folk
always felt It necessary to pre
tend that they disliked any news
paper notoriety. But If she coull
get It from friends, or by any
tiever little maneuvering of her
own, they were pleased to be called
prominent, influential, leaders, ex-
tlusive; she had only to convince
them thoroughly that she knew
they detested publicity to get any
thing she wanted.
(TO BE CONTINUED)