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JENNIE BAXTER JOURNALIST
By Robert Barr
Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the
year one thousand eight hundred and ninety-nine.
CONTENTS
I. JENNIE MAKES HER TOILETTE AND THE ACQUAINTANCE OF A PORTER
II. JENNIE HAS IMPORTANT CONFERENCES WITH TWO IMPORTANT EDITORS
III. JENNIE INTERVIEWS A FRIGHTENED OFFICIAL
IV. JENNIE LEARNS ABOUT THE DIAMONDS OF THE PRINCESS
V. JENNIE MEETS A GREAT DETECTIVE
VI. JENNIE SOLVES THE DIAMOND MYSTERY
VII. JENNIE ARRANGES A CINDERELLA VISIT
VIII. JENNIE MIXES WITH THE ELITE OF EARTH
IX. JENNIE REALIZES THAT GREAT EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEHIND
X. JENNIE ASSISTS IN SEARCHING FOR HERSELF
XI. JENNIE ELUDES AN OFFER OF MARRIAGE
XII. JENNIE TOUCHES THE EDGE OF A GOVERNMENT SECRET
XIII. JENNIE INDULGES IN TEA AND GOSSIP
XIV. JENNIE BECOMES A SPECIAL POLICE OFFICER
XV. JENNIE BESTOWS INFORMATION UPON THE CHIEF OF POLICE
XVI. JENNIE VISITS A MODERN WIZARD IN HIS MAGIC ATTIC
XVII. JENNIE ENGAGES A ROOM IN A SLEEPING-CAR
XVIII. JENNIE ENDURES A TERRIBLE NIGHT JOURNEY
XIX. JENNIE EXPERIENCES THE SURPRISE OF HER LIFE
XX. JENNIE CONVERSES WITH A YOUNG MAN SHE THINKS MUCH OF
XXI. JENNIE KEEPS STEP WITH THE WEDDING MARCH
CHAPTER I. JENNIE MAKES HER TOILETTE AND THE ACQUAINTANCE OF A PORTER.
Miss Jennie Baxter, with several final and dainty touches that put to
rights her hat and dress--a little pull here and a pat there--regarded
herself with some complacency in the large mirror that was set before
her, as indeed she had every right to do, for she was an exceedingly
pretty girl. It is natural that handsome young women should attire
themselves with extra care, and although Jennie would have been
beautiful under any conceivable condition of dress, she nevertheless did
not neglect the arraying of herself becomingly on that account. All that
was remarkable on this occasion consisted in the fact that she took more
than usual pains to make herself presentable, and it must be admitted
that the effect was as attractive as anyone could wish to have it. Her
appearance was enough to send a friend into ecstasies, or drive an enemy
to despair.
Jennie’s voluminous hair, without being exactly golden, was--as the
poets might term it--the colour of ripe corn, and was distractingly
fluffy at the temples. Her eyes were liquidly, bewitchingly black, of
melting tenderness, and yet, upon occasion, they would harden into
piercing orbs that could look right through a man, and seem to fathom
his innermost thoughts. A smooth, creamy complexion, with a touch of red
in the cheeks, helped to give this combination of blonde and brunette an
appearance so charmingly striking that it may be easily understood she
was not a girl to be passed by with a single glance. Being so favoured
by nature, Jennie did not neglect the aid of art, and it must be
admitted that most of her income was expended in seeing that her
wardrobe contained the best that Paris could supply; and the best in
this instance was not necessarily the most expensive--at least not as
expensive as such supplementing might have been to an ordinary woman,
for Jennie wrote those very readable articles on the latest fashionable
gowns which have appeared in some of the ladies’ weeklies, and it was
generally supposed that this fact did not cause her own replenishing
from the _modistes_ she so casually mentioned in her writings to be more
expensive than her purse could afford. Be that as it may, Miss Baxter
was always most becomingly attired, and her whole effect was so
entrancing that men have been known to turn in the street as she passed,
and murmur, “By Jove!” a phrase that, when you take into account the
tone in which it is said, represents the furthermost point of admiration
which the limited vocabulary of a man about town permits him to utter;
and it says something for the honesty of Jennie’s black eyes, and the
straightforwardness of her energetic walk, that none of these momentary
admirers ever turned and followed her.
On this occasion Miss Jennie had paid more than usual attention to her
toilette, for she was about to set out to capture a man, and the man was
no other than Radnor Hardwick, the capable editor of the _Daily Bugle_,
which was considered at that moment to be the most enterprising morning
journal in the great metropolis. Miss Baxter had done work for some
of the evening papers, several of the weeklies, and a number of the
monthlies, and the income she made was reasonably good, but hazardously
fitful. There was an uncertainty about her mode of life which was
displeasing to her, and she resolved, if possible, to capture an editor
on one of the morning papers, and get a salary that was fixed and
secure. That it should be large was a matter of course, and pretty Miss
Jennie had quite enough confidence in herself to believe she would earn
every penny of it. Quite sensibly, she depended upon her skill and her
industry as her ultimate recommendation to a large salary, but she was
woman enough to know that an attractive appearance might be of some
assistance to her in getting a hearing from the editor, even though he
should prove on acquaintance to be a man of iron, which was tolerably
unlikely. She glanced at the dainty little watch attached to her
wristlet, and saw that it lacked a few minutes of five. She knew the
editor came to his office shortly after three, and remained there until
six or half-past, when he went out to dine, returning at ten o’clock, or
earlier, when the serious work of arranging next day’s issue began. She
had not sent a note to him, for she knew if she got a reply it would be
merely a request for particulars as to the proposed interview, and she
had a strong faith in the spoken word, as against that which is written.
At five o’clock the editor would have read his letters, and would
probably have seen most of those who were waiting for him, and
Miss Baxter quite rightly conjectured that this hour would be more
appropriate for a short conversation than when he was busy with his
correspondence, or immersed in the hard work of the day, as he would be
after ten o’clock at night. She had enough experience of the world to
know that great matters often depend for their success on apparent
trivialities, and the young woman had set her mind on becoming a member
of the _Daily Bugle_ staff.
She stepped lightly into the hansom that was waiting for her, and said
to the cabman, “Office of the _Daily Bugle_, please; side entrance.”
The careful toilette made its first impression upon the surly-looking
Irish porter, who, like a gruff and faithful watch-dog, guarded the
entrance to the editorial rooms of the _Bugle_. He was enclosed in a
kind of glass-framed sentry-box, with a door at the side, and a small
arched aperture that was on a level with his face as he sat on a high
stool. He saw to it, not too politely, that no one went up those stairs
unless he had undoubted right to do so. When he caught a glimpse of Miss
Baxter, he slid off the stool and came out of the door to her, which
was an extraordinary concession to a visitor, for Pat Ryan contented
himself, as a usual thing, by saying curtly that the editor was busy,
and could see no one.
“What did you wish, miss? To see the editor? That’s Mr. Hardwick. Have
ye an appointment with him? Ye haven’t; then I very much doubt if ye’ll
see him this day, mum. It’s far better to write to him, thin ye can
state what ye want, an’ if he makes an appointment there’ll be no
throuble at all, at all.”
“But why should there be any trouble now?” asked Miss Baxter. “The
editor is here to transact business, just as you are at the door to do
the same. I have come on business, and I want to see him. Couldn’t you
send up my name to Mr. Hardwick, and tell him I will keep him but a few
moments?”
“Ah, miss, that’s what they all say; they ask for a few moments an’ they
shtay an hour. Not that there’d be any blame to an editor if he kept you
as long as he could. An’ it’s willing I’d be to take up your name, but
I’m afraid that it’s little good it ‘ud be after doin’ ye. There’s more
than a dozen men in the waitin’-room now, an’ they’ve been there for
the last half-hour. Not a single one I’ve sent up has come down again.”
“But surely,” said Miss Jennie, in her most coaxing tone, “there must be
some way to see even such a great man as the editor, and if there is,
you know the way.”
“Indade, miss, an’ I’m not so sure there is a way, unless you met him in
the strate, which is unlikely. As I’ve told ye, there’s twelve men now
waitin’ for him in the big room. Beyont that room there’s another one,
an’ beyont that again is Mr. Hardwick’s office. Now, it’s as much as my
place is worth, mum, to put ye in that room beyont the one where the
men are waitin’; but, to tell you the truth, miss,” said the Irishman,
lowering his voice, as if he were divulging office secrets, “Mr.
Hardwick, who is a difficult man to deal with, sometimes comes through
the shmall room, and out into the passage whin he doesn’t want to see
anyone at all, at all, and goes out into the strate, leavin’ everybody
waitin’ for him. Now I’ll put ye into this room, and if the editor tries
to slip out, then ye can speak with him; but if he asks ye how ye got
there, for the sake of hiven don’t tell him I sint ye, because that’s
not my duty at all, at all.”
“Indeed, I won’t tell him how I got there; or, rather, I’ll say I came
there by myself; so all you need to do is to show me the door, and there
won’t need to be any lies told.
“True for ye, an’ a very good idea. Well, miss, then will ye just come
up the stairs with me? It’s the fourth door down the passage.”
Miss Jennie beamed upon the susceptible Irishman a look of such melting
gratitude that the man, whom bribery had often attempted to corrupt in
vain, was her slave for ever after. They went up the stairs together, at
the head of which the porter stood while Miss Baxter went down the long
passage and stopped at the right door; Ryan nodded and disappeared.
Miss Baxter opened the door softly and entered. She found the room not
too brilliantly lighted, containing a table and several chairs. The door
to the right hand, which doubtless led into the waiting-room, where the
dozen men were patiently sitting, was closed. The opposite door, which
led into Mr. Hardwick’s office, was partly open. Miss Baxter sat down
near the third door, the one by which she had entered from the passage,
ready to intercept the flying editor, should he attempt to escape.
In the editor’s room someone was walking up and down with heavy
footfall, and growling in a deep voice that was plainly audible where
Miss Jennie sat. “You see, Alder, it’s like this,” said the voice. “Any
paper may have a sensation every day, if it wishes; but what I want is
accuracy, otherwise our sheet has no real influence. When an article
appears in the _Bugle_, I want our readers to understand that that
article is true from beginning to end. I want not only sensation, but
definiteness and not only definiteness, but absolute truth.”
“Well, Mr. Hardwick,” interrupted another voice--the owner of which was
either standing still or sitting in a chair, so far as Miss Baxter could
judge by the tone, while the editor uneasily paced to and fro--“what
Hazel is afraid of is that when this blows over he will lose his
situation--”
“But,” interjected the editor, “no one can be sure that he gave the
information. No one knows anything about this but you and I, and we will
certainly keep our mouths shut.”
“What Hazel fears is that the moment we print the account, the Board of
Public Construction will know he gave away the figures, because of their
accuracy. He says that if we permit him to make one or two blunders,
which will not matter in the least in so far as the general account
goes, it will turn suspicion from him. It will be supposed that someone
had access to the books, and in the hurry of transcribing figures
had made the blunders, which they know he would not do, for he has a
reputation for accuracy.”
“Quite so,” said the editor; “and it is just that reputation--for
accuracy--that I want to gain for the _Daily Bugle_. Don’t you think the
truth of it is that the man wants more money?”
“Who? Hazel?”
“Certainly. Does he imagine that he could get more than fifty pounds
elsewhere?”
“Oh, no; I’m sure the money doesn’t come into the matter at all. Of
course he wants the fifty pounds, but he doesn’t want to lose his
situation on the Board of Public Construction in the getting of it.”
“Where do you meet this man, at his own house, or in his office at the
Board?”
“Oh, in his own house, of course.”
“You haven’t seen the books, then?”
“No; but he has the accounts all made out, tabulated beautifully, and
has written a very clear statement of the whole transaction. You
understand, of course, that there has been no defalcation, no
embezzlement, or anything of that sort. The accounts as a whole
balance perfectly, and there isn’t a penny of the public funds wrongly
appropriated. All the Board has done is to juggle with figures so that
each department seems to have come out all right, whereas the truth is
that some departments have been carried on at a great profit, while with
others there has been a loss. The object obviously has been to deceive
the public and make it think that all the departments are economically
conducted.”
“I am sorry money hasn’t been stolen,” said the editor generously, “then
we would have had them on the hip; but, even as it is, the _Bugle_ will
make a great sensation. What I fear is that the opposition press will
seize on those very inaccuracies, and thus try to throw doubt on the
whole affair. Don’t you think that you can persuade this person to let
us have the information intact, without the inclusion of those blunders
he seems to insist on? I wouldn’t mind paying him a little more money,
if that is what he is after.”
“I don’t think that is his object. The truth is, the man is frightened,
and grows more and more so as the day for publication approaches. He is
so anxious about his position that he insisted he was not to be paid by
cheque, but that I should collect the money and hand it over to him in
sovereigns.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what to do, Alder. We mustn’t seem too eager. Let
the matter rest where it is until Monday. I suppose he expects you to
call upon him again to-day?”
“Yes; I told him I should be there at seven.”
“Don’t go, and don’t write any explanation. Let him transfer a little of
his anxiety to the fear of losing his fifty pounds. I want, if possible,
to publish this information with absolute accuracy.”
“Is there any danger, Mr. Hardwick, that some of the other papers may
get on the track of this?”
“No, I don’t think so; not for three days, anyway. If we appear too
eager, this man Hazel may refuse us altogether.”
“Very good, sir.”
Miss Baxter heard the editor stop in his walk, and she heard the
rustling of paper, as if the subordinate were gathering up some
documents on which he had been consulting his chief. She was
panic-stricken to think that either of the men might come out and find
her in the position of an eavesdropper, so with great quietness she
opened the door and slipped out into the hall, going from there to the
entrance of the ordinary waiting-room, in which she found, not the
twelve men that the porter had expatiated upon, but five. Evidently the
other seven had existed only in the porter’s imagination, or had become
tired of waiting and had withdrawn. The five looked up at her as she
entered and sat down on a chair near the door. A moment later the door
communicating with the room she had quitted opened, and a clerk came in.
He held two or three slips of paper in his hand, and calling out a name,
one of the men rose.
“Mr. Hardwick says,” spoke up the clerk, “that this matter is in Mr.
Alder’s department; would you mind seeing him? Room number five.”
So that man was thus got rid of. The clerk mentioned another name, and
again a man rose.
“Mr. Hardwick,” the clerk said, “has the matter under consideration.
Call again to-morrow at this hour, then he will give you his decision.”
That got rid of number two. The third man was asked to leave his name
and address; the editor would write to him. Number four was told that
if he would set down his proposition in writing, and send it in to Mr.
Hardwick, it would have that gentleman’s serious consideration. The
fifth man was not so easily disposed of. He insisted upon seeing the
editor, and presently disappeared inside with the clerk. Miss Baxter
smiled at the rapid dispersion of the group, for it reminded her of the
rhyme about the one little, two little, three little nigger-boys. But
all the time there kept running through her mind the phrase, “Board of
Public Construction,” and the name, “Hazel.”
After a few minutes, the persistent man who had insisted upon seeing the
editor came through the general waiting-room, the secretary, or clerk,
or whoever he was, following him.
“Has your name been sent in, madam?” the young man asked Miss Baxter, as
she rose. “I think not,” answered the girl. “Would you take my card to
Mr. Hardwick, and tell him I will detain him but a few moments?”
In a short time the secretary reappeared, and held the door open for
her.