"Thought you were just going down the street to see how play practice was coming?" he said.

"I did," Helen replied, "and I'm so thrilled, Tom. Sarah Jacobs, who has the juvenile lead in the play is ill with a sore throat and Miss Weeks asked me to take the part."

"Are you going to?"

"I have," smiled Helen. "That's where I've been. Rehearsing for the play Thursday night."

"Well, you're a fine editor," growled Tom. "How am I going to get out the paper?"

"Oh, you don't need to worry about copy," Helen a.s.sured him. "Margaret has half a dozen stories to turn in tomorrow noon and I'll have all of mine written by supper time. And I'll do my usual work Thursday afternoon."

"I was just kidding," grinned Tom. "I think it's great that Miss Weeks picked you to fill in during the emergency. Quite a compliment, I say."

Helen's mother, who had been across the street at the Stevens', came home and Helen had to tell her story over again.

"What about your costumes?" asked her mother.

"The cla.s.s rents the colonial dress for the prologue," explained Helen, "and for the other acts Miss Weeks is going to loan me some smart frocks from her own wardrobe. We're practically the same size."

"What a break for you," Tom laughed. "You'll be the smartest dressed girl in the cla.s.s if I know anything about Miss Weeks."

"Which you don't!" retorted his sister.

Helen's regular Wednesday morning round of news gathering took her to the depot to meet the nine forty-five and she found the agent waiting.

"Remember I promised you a story this week?" he said.

"I'm ready to take it," Helen smiled. "What we want is news, more news and then more news."

"This is really a good story," the railroad man a.s.sured her. "Wait until you see the nine forty-five."

"What's the matter? Is it two or three hours late?"

"It will be in right on time," the agent promised.

Helen sat down on a box on the platform to await the arrival of the morning local. Resting there in the warm sunshine, she pulled her copy of the play book out of her pocket and read the second act, with her big scene, carefully. The words were natural enough and she felt that she would have little trouble remembering them.

She glanced at the depot clock. It was nine forty. The local should be whistling for the crossing down the valley. She looked in the direction from which the train was coming. There was no sign of smoke and she knew it would be late.

She had picked up her play book and turned to the third act when a mellow chime echoed through the valley. It was like a locomotive whistle and yet unlike one.

"New whistle on the old engine?" Helen asked the agent.

"More than that," he grinned.

The _Herald's_ editor watched for the train to swing into sight around a curve but instead of the black, stubby snout of the regular pa.s.senger engine, a train of three cars, seemingly moving without a locomotive, appeared and rolled smoothly toward the station.

As it came nearer Helen could hear the low roar of a powerful gasoline engine, which gradually dropped to a sputtering series of coughs as the three car train drew abreast the station.

"Latest thing in local trains," exclaimed the agent. "It's a gas-electric outfit with the motive power in the front end of the first car. Fast, clean and smooth and it's economical to run. Don't take a fireman."

Helen jotted down hasty notes. Everyone in the town and countryside would be interested in seeing and reading about the new train.

The agent gave Helen a hand into the cab where the engineer obligingly explained the operation of the gas-electric engine.

The conductor called "All aboo-ord," and Helen climbed down out of the cab.

The gasoline engine sputtered as it took up the load of starting the train. When the cars were once under way, it settled down to a steady rumble and the train picked up speed rapidly and rolled out of town on its way to the state capital.

"What do you think of it?" asked the agent.

"It's certainly a fine piece of equipment," said Helen, "but I hate to see the old steam engines go. There's something much more romantic about them than these new trains."

"Oh, we'll have steam on the freight trains," the agent hastened to add.

"Give us a good write up."

"I will," Helen promised as she started for the _Herald_ office to write her story of the pa.s.sing of the steam pa.s.senger trains on the branch line.

Margaret came in with a handful of school stories she had written during an a.s.sembly hour.

"Congratulations," she said to Helen. "I've just heard about your part.

You'll put it across."

"I'm glad you think so, Marg, for I'd hate to make a fizzle of it."

Helen finished writing her copy for the paper that afternoon after school and before she went home to supper with Tom wrote the headlines for the main stories on page one.

"Did you write a story about the soph.o.m.ore picnic and what happened to Margaret?" asked Tom.

"It's with the copy I just put on your machine," Helen replied. "Everyone knows something about it and of course there is a lot of talk. I've seen Doctor Stevens and Margaret and they both agree that a story is necessary and that the simple truth is the best thing to say with no apologies and nothing covered up."

"Doc Stevens is a brick," exclaimed Tom. "Most men would raise the very d.i.c.kens if such a story were printed but it will stop idle talk which is certainly much worse than having the truth known."

"That's the way he feels," Helen said.

Margaret came over after supper to go down to the opera house with Helen for play practice.

"I'm getting almost as big a thrill out of it as Helen," she told Mrs.

Blair, "only I wouldn't be able to put it across and Helen can."

Miss Weeks had brought three dresses for Helen to wear, one for each act in the play. They were dainty, colorful frocks that went well with Helen's blondness.

The stage was set with all of the properties for the prologue and Helen hastened into the girl's dressing room to put on her colonial costume.

When she returned to the stage, Miss Weeks was addressing the cast.

"Remember," she warned them, "that this is the last rehearsal. Everything is just as it will be tomorrow night. Imagine the audience is here tonight. Play up to them."

The main curtain was dropped, the house lights went off and the battery of brilliant electrics in the footlights blazed.