"You'll go right to that address," I asked, "and rest?"
"Sure I will," she told me, cheerfully.
"I'll bring your half of the money to you as soon as I get it," I
ended. "Probably in two or three days. And I'm going to send a doctor
to see you to-morrow."
She was on her way to the door as I spoke, but she stopped and looked
back at me. "Say, kid," she said, "take my advice. Don't bring the
money. _Send_ it. Get me?"
I nodded. The door closed very softly behind her. I heard the old
stairs creak once or twice as she crept down them. Then I went to the
open window and leaned out. She was leaving the house, and I watched
her until she turned into a side street. She walked very slowly,
looking to the right and to the left and behind her, as if she felt
afraid.
Two mornings later when I entered the city room of the _Searchlight_
Mr. Gibson rose and bowed low before me. Then he backed away, still
bowing, and beckoning to me at the same time. His actions were
mysterious, but I followed him across the room, and several reporters
rose from their desks and followed us both. Near the city editor's
desk Mr. Gibson stopped, made another salaam, and pointed impressively
to the wall. Tacked on it very conspicuously was a "model story" of
the day--the sort of thing the city editor occasionally clipped from
the _Searchlight_ or some other newspaper and hung there as "an
inspiration to the staff." We were always interested in his "model
stories," for they were always good; I had read some of them till I
knew them by heart. But this particular morning it was _my_ story
which was tacked there--my story of the girl in gray!
For a full minute I could not speak. I merely stood and stared while
the reporters congratulated me and joked around me. While I was still
trying to take in the stupendous fact that the "model story of the
day" was really mine the city editor, Mr. Farrell, came and stood
beside me. He was a fat man, with a face like a sad full moon, but he
was smiling now.
"Nice story," he said, kindly. "But don't get a swelled head over it.
You'll probably write a rotten one to-morrow."