“You see, in these suits, the babies get all the necessary vitamines from the sunshine.”
Joan bent over her pad. “Vitamine—” she didn’t know how to spell it, but she could look it up when she got back to the office.
Mr. Dugan saw her dilemma. “V-i-t-a-m-i-n-e,” he spelled, without even smiling. He went on and told her about the New York lecturer who would talk to the mothers on the importance of sunshine.
When Joan thanked him for his kindness, he said, “I’ve enjoyed it all, too, for I never was interviewed by such an inspired young newspaper reporter. Most of them are so bold and prepossessing that you hate to tell ’em anything.”
That was because this was her very first assignment and she had been scared to pieces. Of course, it was probably just good luck that Mr. Dugan had proved so amiable—what Tim called a “lucky break.”
She hurried back to the Journal, meeting Amy just at the big double doors of the red-front Five and Ten. She was on her way to buy a heart-shaped powder puff, special that day for only ten cents. She urged Joan to come in and indulge, too.
“I can’t,” Joan displayed her yellow notes, importantly. “I’ve got a dead-line to make.”
“You funny kid. Your nose is shiny.”
Joan didn’t mind her laughing. She was too happy over her assignment to let anything worry her. Amy knew that she had not started powdering yet, except when she went to parties.
Luckily, Tim was still out on his assignment, and she could have his typewriter undisturbed. It wasn’t a good machine; it worked hard and the commas were all headless, which made the composition rather confusing. Chub came over and hung around her typewriter, while Joan worked on her story. She had read scores of fashion notes, store openings, and so on, following Miss Betty through all her literary adventures, so that she now had a fairly clear idea of how to go about writing up the Davis display window.