“And Jennie Stone, and perhaps others. But I want you particularly.”
“Oh, Ruth Fielding! I couldn’t! You know just how dirt poor we are. It’s all Buddie can do to find the money for my soph year here. No! It is impossible!”
“Nothing is impossible. ‘In the bright lexicon of youth,’ and so forth. You can go if you will.”
“I couldn’t accept such a great kindness, Ruth,” Rebecca said, in her hard voice.
“Better wait till you learn how terribly kind I am,” laughed Ruth. “I have an axe to grind, my dear.”
“An axe!”
“Yes, indeedy! I want you to help me. I really do.”
“To write?” gasped Rebecca. “You know very well, Ruth Fielding, that I can scarcely compose a decent letter. I hate that form of human folly known as ‘Lit-ra-choor.’ I couldn’t do it.”
“No,” said Ruth, smiling demurely. “I am going to write my own scenario. But I will get a portable typewriter, and I want you to copy my stuff. Besides, there will be several copies to make, and some work after the director gets there. Oh, you’ll have no sinecure! And if you’ll go and do it, I’ll put up the money but you’ll be paying all the expenses, Becky. What say?”
Ruth knew very well that if she had offered to pay Rebecca a salary the foolishly proud girl would never have accepted. But she had put it in such a way that Rebecca Frayne could not but accept.