rude youths as he is.
Eleanor grinned to herself for she was quite sure she was speaking to the same reporter who answered the call, at first. An answering laugh convinced her she was right, and she hissed through the telephone: If you knew who I was, you wouldnt keep me sitting in the cold like this. Now you can either call Dunlap or Ill give my story to your enemy downtown. The reporters of that paper are just dying to get my story.
That proved miraculous. To prevent the downtown competitor from getting the story, the unknown was willing to turn it over to his opponent, Dunlap.
Eleanor recognised Dunlaps voice the moment he took the phone, and she gave him some interesting personal facts about Polly and herself, and why they were now studying in New York. She talked for half-an-hour, praising Polly and her wonderful character, and finally began telling about the escape from Grizzly Peak at the time of the landslide. But Dunlap interrupted her with:
I cant get all of that in we go to press very shortly.
Oh, dear! Cant you run over here and get this photo of Polly, that I have ready for you?
For the morning edition? gasped Dunlap.
Yes, to accompany the story of the fire.
My dear young lady do you know how long it takes to make a plate for the paper?
A plate? I said a photograph, Mr. Dunlap.
But we have to make a reproduction of yours, then print it on a plate, then give it an acid bath, then etch and rout, and mount and it all takes time before the plate is ready to be stereotyped for the printing in the paper.
Oh! I thought you just took the picture and copied it in the paper. Of course, I never stopped to inquire into what process it went through. But if you say you cant use it, Im sorry.
Som I. But you might bring it in early in the morning and Ill see if there is enough interest in the story to rake up an evenings yarn.
Very well. Ill do that.
Come in, anyway, and bring your friends. Ill show you through the engraving plant of the paper. Youll be interested.
Thank you good-by.
Eleanor hung up the receiver and listened intently to hear if anyone was stirring upstairs. All was quiet, so she placed the photograph back on the shelf and crept upstairs again. She jumped into bed shivering, after being exposed so long to the cold, downstairs. But utter weariness soon brought her sleep and all was forgotten until breakfast time.
Mr. Maynard, speaking, woke Eleanor. She sat up and rubbed her eyes sleepily. Thank goodness, we do not have to go to school for a whole week! declared she, throwing a shoe at Pollys half-buried head.
Polly! Pol-le ee! Wake up!
Wha-foh? grunted Polly, half-dazed.
Then both girls heard Mr. Maynard call: Ill be right back to breakfast, Mrs. Stewart Im going to the corner for the papers.
Eleanor suddenly remembered her share in the telling of the story about the fire, and she jumped out of bed. Im going to hurry down and read what the paper says about the fire, said she.
Polly turned over and stretched lazily. I dont care what they say. Im going to sleep all day.
Eleanor was annoyed. No, you wont! Weve got to keep a date with Mr. Fabian this noon, and youve got to get up!
Oh, thats so! Mr. Fabian is going to take us to Grand Central Palace to show us how carpets are made. I forgot that exhibition was to-day. And Polly jumped up at that remembrance when other things had failed to move her.
The girls were downstairs in time to open the front door for Mr. Maynard. He was grinning teasingly, as he tried to keep a great mass of morning papers from slipping out from under his arm. He held out an opened sheet for the girls to see.
Oh, what a horrid face! Who is it? exclaimed Eleanor.
The paper states it is you, my dear, laughed her father.
What never! Oh, what awful people these newspaper men are! Dad, cant you go down there and horse-whip them? I never looked like that in all my life! and Eleanor stamped her foot in a fury.
Polly had been gazing at the two faces printed on the front sheet of the morning paper, but now she laughed. Oh, if I looked like that picture, I could have put out the fire by merely turning my face to it!
Anne and her mother came in when they heard Mr. Maynards loud laughter. They, too, stared at the oval-framed pictures said to be The two heroines of the dreadful fire at Assembly Hall.
Anne, where under the sun did the newspapers get those two pictures? asked Polly, tittering every time she saw the ovals.
Every newspaper has a department known as the morgue, or some such name. They keep, filed away, pictures of every well-known person
in the world. In the package indexed under the proper name, are one or two cuts ready to use in case of a hurry. Then when a person dies, or is married, or something or other happens, the newspaper rushes to its files and gets out the picture, or cut, needed.
It is the same with famous buildings, or ships, or objects of any kind. If something comes up that brings the thing to the public attention, there the papers have the pictures all ready to print.