She picked up the half dozen pages of typed copy. This was her first big story and she wanted it to read well, to be something of which her father would be proud when he read the copy of the paper they would send him.

She went over the story carefully, changing a word here, another there.

Occasionally she operated on some of her sentences, paring down the longer ones and speeding up the tempo of the story. It was nine-thirty before she was satisfied that she had done the best she could and she stuck the story on the copy spindle, ready for Tom when he wanted to translate it into type on the Linotype.

Helen slid another sheet of copypaper into her typewriter and headed it "PERSONALS." Farther down the page she wrote four items about out-of-town people who were visiting in Rolfe. She had just finished her personals when she heard the whistle of the morning train.

The nine forty-five in the morning and the seven-fifteen in the evening were the only trains through Rolfe on the branch line of the A. and T.

railroad. The nine forty-five was the upbound train to Cranston, the state capital. It reached Cranston about one o'clock, turned around there and started back a little after three, pa.s.sing through Rolfe on its down trip early in the evening, its over-night terminal being Gladbrook, the county seat.

Helen picked up a pencil and pad of paper, snapped the lock on the front door and ran for the depot two blocks away. The daily trains were always good for a few personals. She meant to leave the office earlier but had lost track of the time, so intense had been her interest in writing her story of the storm.

The nine forty-five was still half a mile below town and puffing up the grade to the station when Helen reached the platform. She spoke to the agent and the express man and hurried into the waiting room. Two women she recognized were picking up their suit cases when she entered. Helen explained her mission and they told her where they were going. She jotted down the notes quickly for the train was rumbling into town. The local ground to a stop and Helen went to the platform to see if anyone had arrived from the county seat.

One pa.s.senger descended, a tall, austere-looking man whose appearance was not in the least inviting but Helen wanted every news item she could get so she approached him, with some misgiving.

"I'm the editor for the _Rolfe Herald_," she explained, "and I'd like to have an item about your visit here."

"You're what?" exclaimed the stranger.

"I'm the editor of the local paper," repeated Helen, "and I'd like a story about your visit in town."

"You're pretty young for an editor," persisted the stranger, with a smile that decidedly changed his appearance and made him look much less formidable.

"I'm subst.i.tuting for my father," said Helen.

"That quite explains things," agreed the stranger. "I'm Charles King of Cranston, state superintendent of schools, and I'm making a few inspections around the state. If you'd like, I'll see you again before I leave and tell you what I think of your school system here."

"I'm sure you'll thoroughly approve," said Helen. "Mr. Fowler, the superintendent, is very progressive and has fine discipline."

"I'll tell him he has a good booster in the editor," smiled Mr. King.

"Now, if you'll be good enough to direct me to the school I'll see that you get a good story out of my visit here."

Helen supplied the necessary directions and the state superintendent left the depot.

The nine forty-five, with its combination mail and baggage car and two day coaches, whistled out and Helen returned to the _Herald_ office.

She found a farmer from the east side of the valley waiting for her.

"I'd like to get some sale bills printed," he said, "and I'll need about five hundred quarter page bills. How much will they cost?"

Helen opened the booklet with job prices listed and gave the farmer a quotation on the job.

"Sounds fair enough," he said. "At least it's a dollar less than last year."

"Paper doesn't cost quite as much," explained Helen, "and we're pa.s.sing the saving on to you. Be sure and tell your neighbors about our reasonable printing prices."

"I'll do that," promised the farmer. "I'll bring in the copy Tuesday and get the bills Friday morning."

"My brother will have them ready for you," said Helen, "but if you want to get the most out of your sale, why not run your bill as an ad in the _Herald_. On a combination like that we can give you a special price. You can have a quarter page ad in the paper plus 500 bills at only a little more than the cost of the ad in the paper. It's the cost of setting up the ad that counts for once it is set up we can run off the bills at very little extra cost."

"How much circulation do you have?"

"Eight hundred and seventy-five," said Helen. "Three hundred papers go in town and the rest out on the country routes." She consulted her price book and quoted the price for the combination ad and bills.

"I'll take it," agreed the farmer, who appeared to be a keen business man.

"Tell you what," he went on. "If you'd work out some kind of a tieup with the farm bureau at Gladbrook and carry a page with special farm news you could get a lot of advertising from farmers. If you do, don't use 'canned' news sent out by agricultural schools. Get the county agent to write a column a week and then get the rest of it from farmers around here. Have items about what they are doing, how many hogs they are feeding, how much they get for their cattle, when they market them and news of their club activities."

"Sounds like a fine idea," said Helen, "but we'll have to go a little slowly at first. My brother and I are trying to run the paper while Dad is away recovering his health and until we get everything going smoothly we can't attempt very many new things."

"You keep it in mind," said the farmer, "for I tell you, we people on the farms like to see news about ourselves in the paper and it would mean more business for you. Well, I've got to be going. I'll bring my copy in tomorrow."

"We'll be expecting it," said Helen. "Thanks for the business."

She went around to the postoffice and returned with a handful of letters.

Most of them were circulars but one of them was a card from her father.

She read it with such eagerness that her hands trembled. It had been written while the train was speeding through southwestern Kansas and her father said that he was not as tired from the train trip as he had expected. By the time they received the card, he added, he would be at Rubio, Arizona, where he was to make his home until he was well enough to return to the more rigorous climate of the north.

Helen telephoned her mother at once and read the message on the card.

"I'm going to write to Dad and tell him all about the storm and how happy we are that everything is going well for him," said Helen.

"I'll write this afternoon," said her mother, "and we'll put the letters in one envelope and get them off on the evening mail. Perhaps Tom will find time to add a note."

Helen sat down at the desk, found several sheets of office stationery and a pen, and started her letter to her father. She was half way through when Jim Preston entered.

"Good morning, Miss Blair," he said. "I've got the _Liberty_ ready to go if you'd like to run down the lake and see how much damage the twister caused at the summer resorts."

"Thanks," replied Helen, "I'll be with you right away." She put her letter aside and closed the office. Five minutes later they were at the main pier on the lakesh.o.r.e.

The _Liberty_, a st.u.r.dy, 28-foot cruiser, was moored to the pier. The light oak hood covering the engine shone brightly in the morning sun and Helen could see that Jim Preston had waxed it recently. The hood extended for about fourteen feet back from the bow of the boat, completely enclosing the 60 horsepower engine which drove the craft. The steering wheel and ignition switches were mounted on a dash and behind this were four benches with leather covered cork cushions which could be used as life preservers.

The boatman stepped into the _Liberty_ and pressed the starter. There was the whirr of gears and the m.u.f.fled explosions from the underwater exhaust as the engine started. The _Liberty_ quivered at its moorings, anxious to be away and cutting through the tiny whitecaps which danced in the sunshine.

Helen bent down and loosened the half hitches on the ropes which held the boat. Jim Preston steadied it while she stepped in and took her place on the front seat beside him.

The boatman shoved the clutch ahead, the tone of the motor deepened and they moved slowly away from the pier. With quickening pace, they sped out into the lake, slapping through the white caps faster and faster until tiny flashes of spray stung Helen's face.

"How long will it take us to reach Crescent Beach?" asked Helen for she knew the boatman made his first stop at the new resort at the far end of the lake.

"It's nine miles," replied Jim Preston. "If I open her up we'll be down there in fifteen or sixteen minutes. Want to make time?"

"Not particularly," replied Helen, "but I enjoy a fast ride."

"Here goes," smiled Preston and he shoved the throttle forward.

The powerful motor responded to the increased fuel and the _Liberty_ shook herself and leaped ahead, cutting a v-shaped swath down the center of the lake. Solid sheets of spray flew out on each side of the boat and Preston put up spray boards to keep them from being drenched.

Helen turned around and looked back at Rolfe, nestling serenely along the north end of the lake. It was a quiet, restful scene, the white houses showing through the verdant green of the new leaves. She could see her own home and thought she glimpsed her mother working in the garden at the rear.