Part 29 (1/2)
”Looks it, too,” observed L.P. McQuiggan jauntily, addressing the upper far corner of the room.
Miss Neal looked at him, met a knowing and conscious smile, looked right through the smile, and looked away again, all with the air of one who gazes out into nothingness.
”Guess I'll go look up this Shearson person,” said Mr. McQuiggan, a trifle less jauntily. ”See you all later.”
”I'd no notion you were the writer of the Cutie paragraphs, Milly,” said Dr. Surtaine. ”They're lively stuff.”
”n.o.body has. I'm keeping it dark. It's only a try-out. You _did_ send for me, didn't you?” she added, turning to Hal.
”Yes. What I had in mind to say to you--that is, to the author--the writer of the paragraphs,” stumbled Hal, ”is that they're a little too--too--”
”Too flip?” queried his father. ”That's what makes 'em go.”
”If they could be done in a manner not quite so undignified,” suggested the editor-in-chief.
Color rose in the girl's smooth cheek. ”You think they're vulgar,” she charged.
”That's rather too harsh a word,” he protested.
”You do! I can see it.” She flushed an angry red. ”I'd rather stop altogether than have you think that.”
”Don't be young,” put in McGuire Ellis, with vigor. ”Kitty has caught on. It's a good feature. The paper can't afford to drop it.”
”That's right,” supplemented Dr. Surtaine. ”People are beginning to talk about those items. They read 'em. I read 'em myself. They've got the go, the pep. They're different. But, Milly, I didn't even know you could write.”
”Neither did I,” said the girl staidly, ”till I got to putting down some of the things I heard the girls say, and stringing them together with nonsense of my own. One evening I showed some of it to Mr. Veltman, and he took it here and had it printed.”
”I was going to suggest, Mr. Surtaine,” said McGuire Ellis formally, ”that we put Miss Kitty on the five-dollar-a-column basis and make her an every-other-day editorial page feature. I think the stuff's worth it.”
”We can give it a trial,” said his princ.i.p.al, a little dubiously, ”since you think so well of it.”
”Then, Milly, I suppose you'll be quitting the shop to become a full-fledged writer,” remarked Dr. Surtaine.
”No, indeed, Chief.” The girl smiled at him with that frank friendliness which Hal had noted as informing every relations.h.i.+p between Dr. Surtaine and the employees of the Certina plant. ”I'll stick. The regular pay envelope looks good to me. And I can do this work after hours.”
”How would it be if I was to put you on half-time, Milly?” suggested her employer. ”You can keep your department going by being there in the mornings and have your afternoons for the writing.”
The girl thanked him demurely but with genuine grat.i.tude.
”Then we'll look for your copy here on alternate days,” said Hal. ”And I think I'll give you a desk. As this develops into an editorial feature I shall want to keep an eye on it and to be in touch with you. Perhaps I could make suggestions sometimes.”
She rose, thanking him, and Hal held open the door for her. Once again he felt, with a strange sensation, her eyes take hold on his as she pa.s.sed him.
”Pretty kid,” observed Ellis. ”Veltman is crazy about her, they say.”
”_Good_ kid, too,” added Dr. Surtaine, emphasizing the adjective. ”You might tell Veltman that, whoever he is.”
”Tell him, yourself,” retorted Ellis with entire good nature. ”He isn't the sort to offer gratuitous information to.”
Upon this advice, L.P. McQuiggan reentered. ”All fixed,” said he, with evident satisfaction. ”We went to the mat on rates, but Shearson agreed to give me some good reading notices. Now, I'll beat it. See you to-night, Andy?”
Dr. Surtaine nodded. ”You owe me a commission, Boyee,” said he, smiling at Hal as McQuiggan made his exit. ”But I'll let you off this time. I guess it won't be the last business I bring in to you. Only, don't you and Ellis go looking every gift horse too hard in the teeth. You might get bit.”