She heard the presses going—and a sick feeling clutched her. Suppose she had made some terrible mistake in the story?
One minute she wanted to run out after the papers as she often did. But that would seem over-anxious. The next minute, she wanted to run home and not even look at the story. Oh, wouldn’t some one ever go back after the papers?
Finally, Chub and Gertie emerged through the swinging door. Gertie had a bunch of papers over her arm, and so did Chub. Hers were for counter sales in the front office. Chub handed one to each member of the staff, as was his custom. Then he came to Joan, sitting there, silently twisting her tie.
“Here’s yours.” He handed her a copy, damp and limp, it was so fresh from the press.
She took the paper. She remembered that day, so long ago it seemed, though it was only a month and a half, when she had read Tim’s first story, and now—she was going to read her own. Her own first story. In the Journal. “Thank you, Chub,” her voice came in a whisper.
Chub looked at her, staring at the paper. “Gosh, ain’t you going to hunt up your story? Ain’t on the front page, for I saw the page proof of that. Here let me help you hunt. Don’t you know a reporter,” he drew the word out, deliciously, as though he were chewing a caramel, “should read over his stuff after it’s printed?”
“Yes, I know.” Her hand actually shook as she turned the pages. Together they scanned the paper, down one column and up the next, their eyes darting from one headline to another. At length they found it buried on one of the inside pages, but with an italicized headline that made it a really, truly feature story. There it was, just as she had written it.
Only one word was changed. She had used the word “ladies” and in the paper, it was “women.” She remembered now that the booklet, Journal Style, had said, “Do not use the term ‘lady,’ except to designate the wife of an English lord.” Of course, that was just part of the Journal policy, but she wished she had not forgotten.
“That’s a good story, Joan.” Mr. Nixon was smiling at her. “I guess the Davis Department Store won’t have any kick on the kind of stuff we give ’em.”
“What page?” Miss Betty was turning over her copy of the Journal. After she had discovered it and read it, she announced, “That’s a dandy story, Jo.”