Pretty soon, she heard his familiar, “Yoo-whoo!”
A window in the Journal office opposite was pushed up, and Chub stuck his red head out. “Come here a minute.”
Chub was just Joan’s age and her special pal. He knew almost everything there was to know about a newspaper office. He was sympathetic with Joan’s ambitions to newspaper fame, and was always willing to answer any of her questions. When work was slack at the Journal, the two often had games together—even playing mumble-peg on the worn, splintery floor of the editorial office.
“I suppose you know the news?” he grinned, as she came to the window.
“About Tim? Sure thing,” she answered. “Say, Chub, do me a favor, and think up something to call me over to the Journal about, to-morrow afternoon, will you? It’ll be Tim’s first day, and I’ll be so anxious to know how everything goes, but I don’t dare let on to him.”
“O.K.” That was Chub’s favorite expression at the present. He got a new one every few weeks.
“Say, Jo,” he lowered his voice. “There’s something queer going on over here. Mystery. I’m working on it—oh, gee, there’s Cookie waving some copy at me. I gotta go. But I’ll tell you more as soon as I really find out something.”
The red head was withdrawn, and Joan went back to the kitchen steps, depositing Em beside her saucer of milk.
A mystery at the Journal! What could it be? And would it affect Tim? Joan rather guessed so, from Chub’s remarks. Joan loved mysteries, and Chub knew it. Besides, if Chub had discovered it, then it was bound to be a really good one. A real man’s mystery—nothing silly, like the mysteries Amy tried to concoct.
In a little bit, Tim came out, in a radiant mood, Joan could tell at a glance. “Grab your swimming suit, kid. I want to get in a last swim before I start my job—I’ll be too busy as a cub, and don’t want to go alone.”