Everyone had been introduced informally to everyone else, and at last Mrs. Ashby said: "I have had a bit of refreshment served for you, in the dining room, before you go home. After such exposures and excitement, I think we all will need something."

Mr. Fabian wished to excuse himself, but his friends would not hear of it. Then Mr. Dalken came over and spoke to him. "Are you Mr. Fabian, the artist?"

"They say I am an artist, but I doubt it, myself," replied Mr. Fabian, humbly, but smiling at the questioner.

"Then I am delighted to have met you, for I have a niece studying in Paris, and she writes me pages upon pages about Mrs. Fabian and the daughter Nancy, and how lovely they have been to take her about with them."

His wife and daughter were Mr. Fabian's pet subject so now he seemed to expand marvellously, and smiled benignly upon everyone present. On the way to the dining-room, Mr. Dalken and the artist exchanged heart-to-heart ideas and were soon fast friends.

But scarcely had they seated themselves ere another mad peal of the door-bell took James from the pleasant task of serving an impromptu supper. He was heard arguing with someone in the hall, then Mrs. Ashby turned to her husband and said: "You go and see what is the matter."

After a short time, three re-entered the room-James, Mr. Ashby, and an ambitious-looking young man with alert bright eyes.

"Representative from the Press wants us to give him all the inside news about the fire," explained Mr. Ashby, looking at the circle about the table.

Mrs. Wellington turned pale and gazed beseechingly at Mr. Maynard, hoping he could help her out in the inevitable story that would be written up about her school. But Mr. Dalken saw the look and comprehended immediately.

"h.e.l.lo, Dunlap! How'd you get this a.s.signment from the night-editor?"

"Oh-it's Mr. Dalken. I'm delighted to see you, sir," returned the reporter, very respectfully.

"Yes, these are friends of mine. Some of them are the dearest friends I have, so I do not wish them to be annoyed by finding a garbled story in the papers to-morrow morning. Consequently, I will, with the a.s.sistance of these friends, give you the facts, simple and straightforward, but see that you add nothing to them nor delete a line. Tell your boss that I said so!"

"I sure will, Mr. Dalken, and maybe I won't be the thankful guy if you tell me the story! Can I say it came from you?" was the eager reply of the man Dunlap.

"No, sir! I am not in this at all, except as one who rushed here to help friends. Now this is the story for your paper."

Mrs. Wellington had been anxiously whispering to Mr. Fabian, and the latter now secured Mr. Dalken's attention. "May I have a word with you, in private, before the reporter takes down any notes?"

Out of hearing of the others, Mr. Fabian then explained that Elizabeth had stubbornly refused to postpone the entertainment, and because of her insistence, Mrs. Wellington had taken whatever hall she could find. But she did not want Elizabeth to be made to bear any of the blame, so she wants you to touch wisely on anything that has to do with the theatricals.

"I certainly appreciate Mrs. Wellington's thoughtfulness and I will remember this. I'll see what can be done with Dunlap."

"Mr. Dalken is a born story-teller, Dunlap, and that is why he is so popular, I think," remarked Mr. Ashby, just then.

"Sit down there by Fabian, Dunlap, and join our circle," cordially invited the story-teller, after he had frowned threateningly at his host.

"Give Dunlap some coffee and don't let him jot down a word until I've done talking. Then we will pick out the notes he is to have," added Mr.

Dalken.

"Oh, you can tell it so well, do let me write as you narrate?" begged the reporter.

"No, sir! I can't read short-hand and you may get in a word I don't want you to take. Here, James, remove the pencil and pad from that young man."

Everyone laughed, and Dunlap meekly surrendered the articles mentioned.

Directly Mr. Dalken began his story, the wily reporter had another pencil and pad before him. But Fabian stealthily took possession of these also, and the laugh went against the young man that time.

While Mr. Dalken wove a veritable thriller out of the material provided by the fire, Mrs. Wellington wondered how it was possible to present the facts so well and at the same time prove, beyond doubt, that the young ladies of Mrs. Wellington's school were so perfectly trained and educated that they were a great factor in saving lives and property that night. At the end of the story, Mr. Dalken said that some bright investor might find a handsome revenue in building a fire-proof Hall where just such entertainments could be given-high-school girls who loved to give parties but could not lease one of the hotel ball-rooms, weeks in advance and pay exorbitant prices, and then possibly change their plans before the event.

"You can make a separate paragraph of what I said, if you like, and preface it with the remark: 'When asked what he thought about the fire, Mr. Dalken, who viewed the blaze from a house opposite the scene, said': you know the rest," the famous financier saw that the reporter comprehended, and then he turned to the others seated about the table.

"Anything to add to my story?"

"It was very fine, especially about our dear Princ.i.p.al, but you didn't say enough about Polly carrying Elizabeth safely out," Eleanor said, eagerly.

"I followed a lead given me by Mr. Fabian. We all think it best not to mention names, but to make the incident impersonal," explained Mr.

Dalken.

Eleanor pouted, for she wanted to have Polly given all the credit for what she did. But a sly look from the reporter gave her an idea, and she smiled back understandingly.

Then the story was pieced out for Dunlap and when he had taken down all his notes, he jumped up and said: "I know you will excuse me for rushing away, but I want to get this in type at once. In case you have forgotten something, or wish to send me a photograph of anyone, call 10000 Greeley and I'll see to it, without fail."

"That's all you'll get on this occasion," laughed Mr. Dalken as James started to show the young man to the door. But in pa.s.sing Eleanor, Dunlap sent her a mental telegram, and she closed one eye significantly.

"Oh-he left his pencils and paper!" exclaimed Eleanor, jumping up instantly and running with them to the front door.

"Mr. Dunlap-here is your private property that Mr. Fabian had charge of," was what the guests in the dining-room heard. But to Dunlap she hurriedly whispered: "I'll 'phone you after I leave here."

Before the party broke up that night, Mrs. Ashby learned that Mrs.

Maynard was an old schoolmate of hers, and expressed a wish that Polly and Eleanor would visit her again and meet Ruth who was then visiting friends for Thanksgiving week.

"I really cannot voice my grat.i.tude to all these kind friends," said Mrs. Wellington, as they stood in the reception hall saying good-night.

"Not only has dear Mr. Dalken turned harsh public condemnation from my doors, but the story as he told it, actually brings glory to the school."

"And why should it not, my dear Madam? Have you not fought and struggled with every girl in your charge, to perfect and express just the qualities I have given you credit for?" said Mr. Dalken.

"Oh, yes, _I_ have tried so hard, but how many people, or even parents, would credit me with such endeavors? Once they read it in the papers they will accept the statement, but it is so hard to impress folks by actual demonstration," sighed the thankful lady.

"Thank heavens, Mrs. Wellington, that you have a whole day of peace before you, in which to remember that you have found a group of people, here, who not only appreciate your efforts but have tried to make others approve them," said Mrs. Ashby, earnestly.

"Indeed I have! I expect to have the very best of Thanksgivings, due to all of you dear people. Some day I will be able to show my grat.i.tude for this." And the lady's voice quavered with emotion.

"And you'll find the story in the papers will not only spare you any criticism, but actually praise your school," added Mr. Ashby.

"You may be overwhelmed with new scholars," suggested Polly, innocently.

"That's so! I've always heard that discreet publicity is the finest kind of advertising," Eleanor declared. "This fine tale about your scholars ought to bring back fifty percent returns."

Everyone laughed heartily at hearing so young a girl talk so business-like, and Mr. Dalken said: "I am interested to know just where you got that information?"

"Isn't it true?" demanded Eleanor, turning her bright eyes on him. "You see, Polly and I are going into business together, pretty soon, and I have to take notice of all approved methods of winning success. I am to be the business manager while Polly is the decorator."

The new acquaintances were highly amused at such talk, and Mr. Ashby laughingly inquired: "What profession have you chosen?"

"Interior decorators. We have started, already; we go to Cooper Union three nights a week and Mr. Fabian takes us to all the lectures and exhibitions on any subject that will give us ideas and help."

"Well!" exclaimed Mr. Dalken, finding the girls were really serious.

Mrs. Ashby was deeply interested, but her husband took each of the prospective decorators by the hand and shaking them cordially, said: "Let us congratulate each other, for I am already established as a decorator. I want to help you onward in every possible way, my dear girls, so call on me whenever you want help. Just as Fabian takes you to these valuable exhibitions and lectures, so the four of us pulling together ought to arrive somewhere."