"It's your check from the a.s.sociated Press for covering the tornado,"

explained Tom. "Look!"

Helen took the slip of crisp, green paper. She wasn't dreaming. It was a check, made out in her name and for $10.

"But there must be some mistake," she protested. "They didn't mean to pay me that much."

"If you think there's a mistake," grinned Tom, "you can go and see them when we reach Cranston tomorrow. However, if I were you, I'd tuck it in my pocket, invite my brother across the street to the drug store, and buy him a big ice cream soda."

"Wait until I see what the letter says," replied Helen. She pulled it out of the envelope and Tom leaned over to read it with her.

"Dear Miss Blair," it started, "enclosed you will find check for your fine work in reporting the tornado near Rolfe. Please consider this letter as your appointment as Rolfe correspondent for the a.s.sociated Press. Serious accidents, fires of more than $5,000 damage and deaths of prominent people should be sent as soon as possible. Telegraph or telephone, sending all your messages collect. In using the telegraph, send messages by press rate collect when the story is filed in the daytime. If at night, send them night press collect. And remember, speed counts but accuracy must come first. Stories of a feature or time nature should be mailed. We are counting on you to protect us on all news that breaks in and near Rolfe. Very truly yours, Alva McClintock, Correspondent in charge of the Cranston Bureau."

"He certainly said a lot in a few words," was Tom's comment. "Now you're one up on me. You're editor of the _Herald_ and a.s.sociated Press correspondent and I'm only business manager."

"Don't get discouraged," laughed Helen, "I'll let you write some of the a.s.sociated Press stories."

"Thanks of the compliment," grinned Tom. "I'm still waiting for that ice cream soda, Miss Plutocrat."

"You'll grumble until I buy it, I suppose, so I might as well give in right now," said Helen. "Come on. I'm hungry for one myself."

Tom and Helen boarded the nine forty-five Sat.u.r.day morning and arrived at the state capital shortly after noon. It was Helen's first trip to Cranston and she enjoyed every minute of it, the noise and confusion of the great railroad terminal, the endless bobbing about of the red caps, the cries of news boys heralding noonday editions and the ceaseless roar of the city.

They went into the large restaurant at the station for lunch and after that Tom inquired at the information desk for directions on how to reach the plant of the World Printing Company. He copied the information on a slip of paper and the two young newspaper people boarded a street car.

Half an hour later they were on the outskirts of the industrial district and even before the conductor called their stop, Tom heard the steady roar of great presses.

"Here we are," he told Helen as they stepped down from the car and looked up at a hulking ten story building that towered above them.

"The Cranston plant of the _Rolfe Herald_," chuckled Helen. "Lead on."

They walked up the steps into the office, gave their names and indicated their business to the office girl. After waiting a few minutes they were ushered into an adjoining office where an energetic, middle aged man who introduced himself as Henry Walker, service manager, greeted them.

"Let's see, you're from the _Rolfe Herald_?" he asked.

"My sister and I are running the paper while Dad is in the southwest regaining his health," explained Tom. "We've got to expand the paper to increase our advertising s.p.a.ce and the only thing we can see to do is cut down our ready-print to two pages."

"Explain just what you mean," suggested the service manager.

Tom outlined their advertising field and how they hoped to increase business by adding two more pages of home print, one of which would be devoted to farm advertising and news and the other to be available for whatever additional advertising they could produce.

"We'll be sorry to have you drop two pages of ready-print," said Mr.

Walker, "but I believe you're doing the right thing. Now let's see what you want on the two pages you'll retain."

"Helen is editor," Tom explained, "and it's up to her to pick out what she wants."

"You're doing a splendid job on the _Herald_," the service manager told Helen. "I get copies of every paper we serve and I've been noticing the changes in make-up and the lively stories. However, I am sorry to hear about your father but with you two youngsters to give him pep and courage he ought to be back on the job in a few months."

"We're sure he will," smiled Helen as she unfolded a copy of their last edition of the _Herald_. "I've pasted up two pages of the features I want to retain," she explained as she placed them in front of the service manager.

"I see," he said. "You're going to be quite metropolitan with a full page of comics and a page devoted to women. I'm glad of that. Too many editors of weeklies fail to realize that the women and not the men are the real readers of their papers. If you run a paper which appeals to women and children you'll have a winner. Comics for the youngsters and a serial story with a strong love element and fashions and style news for the women."

"How about cost?" asked Tom.

"Dropping the two pages won't quite cut your bill with us in half,"

explained Mr. Walker, "for you're retaining all of our most expensive features. However, this new plan of yours will reduce your weekly bill about 40 per cent."

"That's satisfactory," agreed Tom, "and we'd like to have it effective at once. Helen has written the headings she wants for each page."

"We'll send the pages, made up in the new way, down at the usual time next week," promised the service manager, "and when there is anything else we can do, don't hesitate to let us know."

When they were out of the building, they paused to decide what to do next.

"I liked Mr. Walker," said Helen. "He didn't attempt to keep us from making the change. It means less money for his company yet he didn't object."

"It was good business on his part," replied Tom. "Now we feel kindly toward him and although he has lost temporarily he will gain in the end for we'll give him every bit of business we can in the way of ordering supplies for job printing and extra stock for the paper."

"If we have time," suggested Helen, "I'd like to go down to the a.s.sociated Press office."

"Good idea," agreed Tom. "I'd like to see how they handle all of the news."

They boarded the first down town street car and got off fifteen minutes later in the heart of Cranston's loop district. Across the street was the building which housed the _Cranston Chronicle_, the largest daily newspaper in the state. They consulted the directory in the lobby of the building and took the elevator to the fifth floor where the a.s.sociated Press offices were located.

They stepped out of the elevator and into a large room, filled with the clatter of many machines. A boy, his face smeared with blue smudges off carbon paper, rushed up to them and inquired their business.

"I'm Helen Blair, a new correspondent at Rolfe," explained the editor of the _Herald_, "and I'd like to see Mr. McClintock, the chief correspondent."

"Okay," grinned the boy. "I'll tell him. You wait here."

The youngster hurried across the room to a large table, shaped like a half moon and behind which sat a touseled haired chap of indeterminate age. He might be 30 and he might be 40, decided Helen.

"Glad to know you, Miss Blair," he said. "You did a nice piece of work on the storm."

"Thank you, Mr. McClintock," replied Helen. "But my brother, Tom, deserves all of the credit. He suggested calling the story to you."

"Then I'll thank Tom, too," laughed the head of the Cranston bureau of the a.s.sociated Press.

"We're here today on business for our paper," explained Helen, "and with a few minutes to spare before train time hoped you wouldn't mind if we came in and saw how the 'wheels go round' here."

"I'll be happy to show you the 'works'," replied Mr. McClintock, and he took them over to a battery of electric printers.

"These," he explained, "bring us news from every part of the country, east, south and far west. In reality, they are electric typewriters controlled from the sending station in some other city. We take the news which comes in here, sift it out and decide what will interest people in our own state, and send it on to daily papers in our territory."

"Do these electric printers run all day?" asked Tom.

"Some of them go day and night," continued Mr. McClintock, "for the A.P.

never sleeps. Whenever news breaks, we've got to be ready to cover it.

That's why we appreciated your calling us on the storm. We knew there was trouble in your part of the state but we didn't have a correspondent at Rolfe. It was a mighty pleasant surprise when you phoned."