"That's a real story," enthused Tom. "It's big enough to telephone to the state bureau of the a.s.sociated Press at Cranston. They'll be glad to pay us for sending it to them."

"You telephone," said Helen. "I'd be scared to death and wouldn't be able to give them all the facts."

"You're the editor," replied Tom. "It's your story and you ought to do the phoning. Jot down some notes while I get a connection to Cranston."

Tom went into the house to put in the long distance call just as Helen's mother hurried across from the Stevens home.

"Are you all right, dear?" her mother asked.

"Not even wet," replied Helen. "The coat and boots protected me even in the heaviest rain. Tom's just gone inside to call the a.s.sociated Press at Cranston and I'm going to tell them about the storm."

"Hurry up there," came Tom's voice from inside the house. "The Cranston operator has just answered."

"And I haven't had time to think what I'll say," added Helen, half to herself.

Without stopping to take off her c.u.mbersome raincoat, she hurried to the telephone stand in the dining room and Tom turned the instrument over to her.

"All ready," he said.

Helen picked up the telephone and heard a voice at the other end of the wire saying, "This is the state bureau of the a.s.sociated Press at Cranston. Who's calling?"

Mustering up her courage, Helen replied, "this is Helen Blair, editor of the _Rolfe Herald_. We've had a tornado near here this afternoon and I thought you'd want the facts."

"Glad to have them," came the peppy voice back over the wire. "Let's go."

Helen forgot her early misgivings and briefly and concisely told her story about the storm, giving estimates of damage and the names of the injured. In three minutes she was through.

"Fine story," said the a.s.sociated Press man at Cranston. "We'll mail you a check the first of the month. And say, you'd better write to us. We can use a live, wide-awake correspondent in your town."

"Thanks, I will," replied Helen as she hung up the receiver.

"What did he say?" asked Tom.

"He told me to write them; that they could use a correspondent at Rolfe."

"That's great," exclaimed Tom. "One more way in which we can increase our income and it means that some day you may be able to get a job with the a.s.sociated Press."

"That will have to come later," said Helen's mother, "when school days are over."

"Sure, I know," said Tom, "but creating a good impression won't hurt anything."

Mrs. Blair had a hot supper waiting, hamburger cakes, baking powder biscuits with honey, and tea, and they all sat down to the table for a belated evening meal.

Helen related the events of her trip with Doctor Stevens and Tom grew enthusiastic again over the story.

"It's the biggest news the _Herald_ has had in years. If we were putting out a daily we'd be working on an extra now. Maybe the _Herald_ will be a daily some day."

"Rolfe will have to grow a lot," smiled his mother.

"I guess you're right," agreed Tom.

Tom and Helen helped their mother clear away the supper dishes and after that Helen went into the front room and cleared the Sunday papers off the library table. She found some copypaper and a pencil in the drawer and sat down to work on her story of the storm.

The excitement of the storm and the ensuing events had carried her along, oblivious of the fatigue which had increased with the pa.s.sing hours. But when she picked up her pencil and tried to write, her eyes dimmed and her head nodded. She snuggled her head in her arms to rest for just a minute, she told herself. The next thing she knew Tom was shaking her shoulders.

"Ten o'clock," he said, "and time for all editors to be in bed."

Helen tried to rub the sleep from her eyes and Tom laughed uproariously at her efforts.

"It's no use," he said. "You're all tired out. You can write your story in the morning. To bed you go."

"Have I been asleep all evening?" Helen asked her mother.

"Yes, dear," was the reply, "and I think Tom's right. Run along to bed and you'll feel more like working on your story in the morning."

Goodnights were said and Helen, only half awake, went to her room, thus ending the most exciting day in her young life.

CHAPTER VI _A New Week Dawns_

Monday morning dawned clear and bright. There were no traces in the sky of the storm which on the previous day had devastated so many farms west of Rolfe. The air was warm with a fragrance and sweetness that only a small town knows in springtime.

Helen exchanged greetings with half a dozen people as she hurried down the street to start her first day at the office as editor of the _Herald_.

Grant Hughes, the postmaster, was busy sweeping out his office but he stopped his work and called to Helen as she turned down the alley-way which led to the _Herald_ office.

"Starting in bright and early, aren't you?"

"Have to," smiled Helen, "for Tom and I have only half days in which to put out the paper and do the job work."

"I know, I know," mused the old postmaster, "but you're chips off the old block. You'll make good."

"Thanks, Mr. Hughes," said Helen. "Your believing in us is going to help."

She hastened on the few steps to the office and opened the doors and windows for the rooms were close and stuffy after being closed overnight.

The young editor of the _Herald_ paused to look around the composing room. Tom had certainly done a good job cleaning up the day before. The four steel forms which would hold the type for the week's edition were in place, ready for the news she would write and the ads which it would be Tom's work to solicit. The Linotype seemed to be watching her in a very superior but friendly manner and even the old press was polished and cleaned as never before.

Helen returned to the editorial office, rolled a sheet of copypaper into her typewriter, and sat down to write the story of the storm. She might have to change certain parts of the story about the condition of the injured later in the week but she could get the main part of it written while it was still fresh in her memory.

Hugh Blair had always made a point of writing his news stories in simple English and he had drilled Helen and Tom in his belief that the simpler a story is written the more widely it will be read. He had no time for the mult.i.tudes of adjectives which many country editors insist upon using, although he felt that strong, colorful words had their place in news stories.

With her father's beliefs on news writing almost second nature, Helen started her story. It was simple and dramatic, as dramatic as the sudden descent of the storm on the valley. Her fingers moved rapidly over the keyboard and the story seemed to write itself. She finished one page and rolled another into the machine, hardly pausing in her rapid typing.

Page after page she wrote until she finally leaned back in her swivel chair, tired from the strain of her steady work.