“Closer to the news—to current events and subjects?” suggested Emily.
“Yes,—precisely—you catch my meaning at once.” Mr. Burnham was looking at her as if she were a genius. He was of those men who are dazzled when they discover a gleam of intelligence in a beautiful woman. “Now, we wish to get you to help us with our World of Women. Mrs. Parrott is the editor, as you perhaps know. She’s been with us—yes—twenty-three years, eighteen years in her present position. And after making some inquiries, we decided to invite you to join the staff as assistant to Mrs. Parrott.”
“I know the magazine,” said Emily, “and I think I see the directions in which the improvements you suggest could be made. But I’m not dissatisfied with my present position. Of course—if—well—” She looked at Mr. Burnham with an ingenuous expression that hid the business guile beneath—“Of course, I couldn’t refuse an opportunity to better myself.”
“We—that is—” Mr. Burnham looked miserable and plucked wildly at his closely-trimmed gray and black beard. “May I ask what—what financial arrangement would be agreeable to you?”
“The offer must come from you, mustn’t it?” said Emily, who had not been earning her own living without learning first principles.
“Yes—of course—naturally.” Mr. Burnham held himself rigid in his chair, as if it required sheer force to restrain him from leaping forth and away. “Might I ask—what you are—what—what—return for your services the Democrat makes?”
“Sixty-five dollars a week,” said Emily. “But my position there is less exacting than it would be here. I have practically no editorial responsibility. And editorial responsibility means gray hair.”
“Yes—certainly—you would expect compensation for gray hair—dear me, no—I beg your pardon. What were we saying? Yes—we could hardly afford to pay so much as that—at the start, you know. I should say sixty would be quite the very best. But your hours would be shorter—and you would have the utmost freedom about writing articles, stories, and so forth. And of course you’d be paid extra for what you wrote which proved acceptable to us. Then too, it’s a higher class of work—the magazines, you know—gives one character and standing.”
“Oh—work is work,” said Emily. “And I doubt if a magazine could give me character. I fear I’d have to continue to rely on myself for that.”
“Oh—I beg your pardon. I’m very stupid to-day—I didn’t mean——”