_In the Editor's Chair_
Sunday morning found Tom and Helen Blair entering a new era in their
lives. While their father sped toward the southwest in quest of renewed
health, they planned how they could develop the _Herald_.
Their mother was silent through breakfast and several times they saw her
eyes dim with tears.
"Don't worry, Mother," said Helen. "We'll manage all right and Dad is
going to pull through in fine shape. Why, he'll be back with us by
Christmas time."
"I wish I could be as optimistic as you are, Helen," said Mrs. Blair.
"You'll feel better in a few more hours," said Tom. "It's the suddenness
of it all. Now we've got to buckle down and make the _Herald_ keep on
paying dividends."
Tom and Helen helped their mother clear away the breakfast dishes and
then dressed for Sunday school. Mrs. Blair taught a class of
ten-to-twelve-year-old girls. Tom and Helen were in the upper classes.
The Methodist church they attended was a red brick structure, the first
brick building built in Rolfe, and it was covered with English ivy that
threatened even to hide the windows. The morning was warm and restful and
they enjoyed the walk from home to church.
The minister was out of town on his vacation and there were no church
services. After Sunday school the Blairs walked down to the postoffice.
The large mail box which was rented for the _Herald_ was filled with
papers, circulars and letters.
"We might as well go back to the office and sort this out," said Tom, and
Mrs. Blair and Helen agreed.
The office was just as Tom and Helen had left it Thursday night for they
had been too busy since then helping with the arrangements for their
father's departure to clean it up.
The type was still in the forms, papers were scattered on the floor and
dust had gathered on the counter and the desk which had served Hugh Blair
for so many years.
"I'll open the windows and the back door," said Tom, "and we'll get some
air moving through here. It's pretty stuffy."
Mrs. Blair sat down in the swivel chair in front of her husband's desk
and Helen pulled up the only other chair in the office, an uncomfortable
straight-backed affair.
"You're editor now," Mrs. Blair told Helen. "You'd better start in by
sorting the mail."
"Tom's in charge," replied Helen as her brother returned to the office.
"Let's not argue," said Tom. "We'll have a business meeting right now.
Mother, you represent Dad, who is the owner. Now you decide who will be
what."
"What will we need?" smiled Mrs. Blair.
"We need a business manager first," said Helen.
"Wrong," interjected Tom. "It's a publisher."
"Then I say let's make it unanimous and elect mother as publisher," said
Helen.
"Second the motion," grinned Tom.
"If there are no objections, the motion is declared passed," said Helen.
"And now Mother, you're the duly elected publisher of the _Rolfe
Herald_."
"I may turn out to be a hard-boiled boss," said Mrs. Blair, but her smile
belied her words.
"We're not worrying a whole lot," said Tom. "The next business is
selecting a business manager, a mechanical department, an editor, and a
reporter. Also a couple of general handymen capable of doing any kind of
work on a weekly newspaper."
"That sounds like a big payroll for a paper as small as the _Herald_,"
protested Mrs. Blair.
"I think you'll be able to get them reasonable," said Tom.
"In which case," added Helen, "you'd better appoint Tom as business
manager, mechanical department, and handyman."
"And you might as well name Helen as editor, reporter and first assistant
to the handyman," grinned Tom.
"I've filled my positions easier than I expected," smiled Mrs. Blair. "As
publisher, I'll stay at home and keep out of your way."
"Mother, we don't want you to do that," exclaimed Helen. "We want you to
come down and help us whenever you have time."
"But what could I do?" asked her mother.
"Lots of things. For instance, jot down all of the personal items you
know about your friends and about all of the club meetings. That would be
a great help to me. Sometimes in the evening maybe you'd even find time
to write them up, for Tom and I are going to be frightfully busy between
going to school and running the _Herald_."
"I'll tell the town," said Tom. "If you'd handle the society news,
Mother, you could make it a great feature. The _Herald_ has never paid
much attention to the social events in town. Guess Dad was too busy. But
I think the women would appreciate having all of their parties written
up. I could set up a nice head, 'Society News of Rolfe,' and we'd run a
column or so every week on one of the inside pages."
"You're getting me all excited, Tom," said his mother. "Your father said
I never would make a newspaper woman but if you and Helen will have a
little patience with me, I'd really enjoy writing the social items."
"Have patience with you, Mother?" said Helen. "It's a case of whether
you'll have patience with us."
"We're going to have to plan our time carefully," said Tom, "for we'll
have to keep up in our school work. I've got it doped out like this.
Superintendent Fowler says Helen and I can go half days and as long as we
cover all of the class work, receive full credit. The first half of the
week is going to be the busiest for me. I'll have to solicit my ads, set
them up, do what job work I have time for and set up the stories Helen
turns out for the paper. I could get in more time in the afternoon than
in the morning so Helen had better plan on taking the mornings on Monday,
Tuesday and Wednesday away from school."
"It will work out better for her, too," went on Tom. "Many of the big
news events happen over the week-end and she'll be on the job Monday
morning. I'll have every afternoon and evening for my share of the work
and for studying. Then we'll both take Thursday afternoon away from
school and get the paper out. And on Friday, Mother, if you'll come down
and stay at the office, we'll go to school all day. How does that sound?"
"Seems to me you've thought of everything," agreed Helen. "I like the
idea of doing my editorial work in the mornings the first part of the
week and I'll be able to do some of it after school hours."
"Then it looks like the _Herald_ staff is about ready to start work on
the next issue," said Tom. "We have a publisher, a business manager and
an editor. What we need now are plenty of ads and lots of news."
"What would you say, Mother, if Tom and I stayed down at the office a
while and did some cleaning up?" asked Helen.
"Under the circumstances, I haven't any objections," said their mother.
"There isn't any church service this morning and you certainly can put in
a few hours work here in the office to good advantage. I'll stay and help
you with the dusting and sweeping."
"You run on home and rest," insisted Helen. "Also, don't forget Sunday
dinner. We'll be home about two or two-thirty, and we'll be hungry by
that time."
Mrs. Blair picked up the Sunday papers and after warning Tom and Helen
that dinner would be ready promptly at two-thirty, left them in the
office.
"Well, Mr. Business Manager, what are you going to start on?" asked
Helen.
"Mr. Editor," replied Tom, "I've got to throw in all the type from last
week's forms. What are you going to do?"
"The office needs a good cleaning," said Helen. "I'm going to put on my
old apron and spend an hour dusting and mopping. You keep out or you'll
track dirt in while I'm doing it."
Tom took off the coat of his Sunday suit, rolled up his shirt sleeves and
donned the ink-smeared apron he wore when working in the composing room.
Helen put on the long apron she used when folding papers and they went to
work with their enthusiasm at a high pitch. Their task was not new but so
much now depended on the success of their efforts that they found added
zest in everything they did.
Helen went through the piles of old papers on her father's desk, throwing
many of them into the large cardboard carton which served as a
wastebasket. When the desk was finally in order, she turned her attention
to the counter. Samples of stationery needed to be placed in order and
she completely rearranged the old-fashioned show case with its display of
job printing which showed what the _Herald_ plant was capable of doing.
With the desk and counter in shape, Helen picked up all of the papers on
the floor, pulled the now heavily laden cardboard carton into the
composing room, and then secured the mop and a pail of water. The barber
shop, located below the postoffice, kept the building supplied with warm
water, and Helen soon had a good pail of suds.
Tom stopped his work in the composing room and came in to watch the
scrubbing.
"First time that floor has been scrubbed in years," he said.
"I know it," said Helen as she swished her mop into the corners. "Dad was
running the paper and Mother was too busy bringing us up to come down
here and do it for him."
"He'll never recognize the old place when he comes back," said Tom.
"We'll brighten it up a little," agreed Helen, as Tom returned to his
task of throwing in the type.
Helen had the editorial office thoroughly cleaned by one o'clock and sat
down in her father's swivel chair to rest. Tom called in from the back
room.
"You'd better plan your editorial work for the week," he said. "I want to
run the Linotype every afternoon and you'll have to have copy for me."
"What do you want first?" said Helen.
"Better get the editorials ready today," he replied. "They don't have to
be absolutely spot copy. Dad wrote the first column himself and then
clipped a column or a column and a half from nearby papers."
"I'll get at it right away," said Helen. "The exchanges for last week are
on the desk. After I've gone through them I'll write my own editorials."
"Better have one about Dad going away," said Tom and there was a queer
catch in his voice.
Helen did not answer for her eyes filled with a strange mist and her
throat suddenly felt dry and full.
Their father's departure for the southwest had left a great void in their
home life but Helen knew they would have to make the best of it. She was
determined that their efforts on the _Herald_ be successful.
Helen turned to the stack of exchanges which were on the desk and opened
the editorial page of the first one. She was a rapid reader and she
scanned paper after paper in quest of editorials which would interest
readers of the _Herald_. When she found one she snipped it out with a
handy pair of scissors and pasted it on a sheet of copy paper. Six or
seven were needed for the _Herald's_ editorial page and it took her half
an hour to get enough. With the clipped editorials pasted and new heads
written on them, Helen turned to the typewriter to write the editorials
for the column which her father was accustomed to fill with his own
comments on current subjects.
Helen had stacked the copypaper in a neat pile on the desk and she took a
sheet and rolled it into the typewriter. She had taken a commercial
course the first semester and her mastery of the touch system of typing
was to stand her in good stead for her work as editor of the _Herald_.
For several minutes the young editor of the _Herald_ sat motionless in
front of her typewriter, struggling to find the right words. She knew her
father would want only a few simple sentences about his enforced absence
from his duties as publisher of the paper.
Then Helen got the idea she wanted and her fingers moved rapidly over the
keys. The leading editorial was finished in a short time. It was only one
paragraph and Helen took it out of the machine and read it carefully.
"Mr. Hugh Blair, editor and publisher of the _Herald_ for the last
twenty years, has been compelled, by ill health, to leave his work at
Rolfe and go to a drier climate for at least six months. In the
meantime, we ask your cooperation and help in our efforts to carry out
Mr. Blair's ideals in the publication of the _Herald_.
Signed,
Mrs. Hugh Blair, Helen and Tom Blair."
After reading the editorial carefully, Helen called to her brother.
"Come in and see what you think of my lead editorial," she said.
Tom, his hands grimy with ink from the type he had been throwing into the
cases, came into the editorial office.
He whistled in amazement at the change Helen had brought about. The
papers were gone from the floor, which had been scrubbed clean, and the
desk and counter were neat and orderly.
"Looks like a different office," he said. "But wait until I have a chance
to swing a broom and mop in the composing room. And I'm going to fix some
of the makeup tables so they'll be a little handier."
Helen handed him the editorial and Tom read it thoughtfully.
"It's mighty short," he said, "but it tells the story."
"Dad wouldn't want a long sob story," replied Helen. "Here's the clipped
editorials. You can put them on the hook on your Linotype and I'll bring
the others out as soon as I write them."
Tom returned to the composing room with the handful of editorial copy
Helen had given him and the editor of the _Herald_ resumed her duties.
She wrote an editorial on the beauty of Rolfe in the spring and another
one on the desirability for a paved road between Rolfe and Gladbrook, the
county seat. In advocating the paved road, Helen pointed to the increased
tourist traffic which would be drawn to Rolfe as soon as a paved road
made Lake Dubar accessible to main highways.
It was nearly two o'clock when she finished her labor at the typewriter.
She was tired and hungry. One thing sure, being editor of the _Herald_
would be no easy task. Of that she was convinced.
"Let's go home for dinner," she called to Tom.
"Suits me," replied her brother. "I've finished throwing in the last
page. We're all ready to start work on the next issue."
They took off their aprons and while Helen washed her hands, Tom closed
the windows and locked the back door. He took his turn at the sink and
they locked the front door and started for home.
"What we need now is a good, big story for our first edition," said Tom.
"We may have it before nightfall if those clouds get to rolling much
more," said Helen.
Tom scanned the sky. The sunshine of the May morning had vanished.
Ominous banks of clouds were rolling over the hills which flanked the
western valley of Lake Dubar and the lake itself was lashed by white
caps, spurred by a gusty wind.
They went down main street, turned off on the side street and climbed the
slope to their home.
Mrs. Blair was busy putting some heavy pots over flowers she wanted to
protect from the wind.
"Dinner's all ready," she told them, "and I've asked Margaret Stevens
over. She wants to talk with Helen about the sophomore class picnic
tomorrow."
"I won't have time to go," said Helen. "We'll be awfully busy working on
the next issue."
"You're on the class committee, aren't you?" asked Tom.
"Yes."
"Then you're going to the picnic. We'll have lots to do on the _Herald_
but we won't have to give up all of our other activities."
"Tom is right," said Mrs. Blair. "You must plan on going to the picnic."
Margaret Stevens came across the street from her home. Margaret was a
decided brunette, a striking contrast to Helen's blondness.
"We'll go in and eat," said Mrs. Blair. "Then we'll come out and watch
the storm. There is going to be a lot of wind."
Margaret was jolly and good company and Helen thought her mother wise to
have a guest for dinner. It kept them from thinking too much about their
father's absence.
There was roast beef and hashed brown potatoes with thick gravy, lettuce
salad, pickled beets, bread and butter, large glasses of rich milk and
lemon pie.
"I've never tasted a better meal," said Tom between mouthfuls.
"That's because you've been so busy at the office," smiled his mother.
"We were moving right along," agreed Tom. "I got the forms all ready for
the next issue and Helen has the editorials done."
"Won't you need a reporter?" asked Margaret.
"We may need one but Helen and Mother are going to try and do all the
news writing," said Tom.
"I mean a reporter who would work for nothing. I'd like to help for I've
always wanted to write."
"You could be a real help, Margaret," said Helen, "and we'd enjoy having
you help us. Keep your ears open for all of the personal items and tell
Mother about any parties. She's going to write the society news."
"We're getting quite a staff," smiled Tom. "I'm open for applications of
anyone who wants to work in the mechanical department."
"That's not as romantic as gathering and writing news," said Margaret.
"But just as important," insisted Tom.
The room darkened and a particularly heavy gust of wind shook the house.
From the west came a low rumbling.
Tom dropped his knife and fork and went to the front porch.
"Come here, Helen!" he cried. "The storm's breaking. You're going to have
your first big story right now!"