"That's all."
"She's going to run the Daily News."
"Oh, I'll only be a cub reporter, I guess that's what you call them."
"Reporter nothing," contradicted Carol. "There's nothing literary about that. You must take the whole paper in hand, and color it up a bit. And for goodness' sake, polish up Mr. Raider's editorials. I could write editorials like his myself."
"And you might tone down the family notes for him," suggested Fairy. "We don't really care to know when Mrs. Kelly borrows eggs of the editor's wife and how many dolls Betty got for Christmas and Jack's grades in high school. We can get along without those personal touches."
"Maybe you can give us a little church write-up now and then, without necessitating Mr. Raider as chairman of every committee," interposed their father, and then retracted quickly. "I was only joking, of course, I didn't mean—"
"No, of course, you didn't, father," said Carol kindly. "We'll consider that you didn't say it. But just bear it in mind, Larkie."
Fairy solemnly rose and crossed the porch, and with a hand on Lark's shoulder gave her a solemn shake. "Now, Lark Starr, you begin at the beginning and tell us. Do you think we're all wooden Indians? We can't wait until you make a newspaper out of the Daily News! We want to know. Talk."
Thus adjured, Lark did talk, and the little story with many striking embellishments from Carol was given into the hearing of the family.
"Five dollars a week," echoed Connie faintly.