“What luck!” Lefty was setting up his tripod. “I have one more exposure left.” Mr. Link and Alex posed together for the picture.
“You can say that I believe in the honor system, now, after this night,” the principal told Tim. “Falls got away but White’s behavior proves to me the system is worth while. We’ll always use it, from now on. And I’ll see to it, myself, that this boy has some fitting reward.”
Alex smiled—a weak grin, but a broad one.
Joan smiled, too. She supposed that Amy would hope that the reward would be pretty uniforms. Seeing that Mr. Link seemed a different person, she asked, “Do you think that the appropriation might be used for a printing office? Alex is wild to learn to run a linotype machine, and there are no schools in Plainfield.”
The principal met her steady gaze, and then glanced back to the boy. “Why, I’m sure of it. There’s no reason why a fourteen-year-old boy shouldn’t learn to run a linotype machine if he wants to! Boyville will have its own printing office just as soon as possible. You’ve earned it, Alex.”
The Star had the story of the fire, of course, but not the part about the honor system and about Alex’ bravery. So Joan felt she had helped Tim again.
Cookie had said once, “Fires are like bananas—they come in bunches!”
It did seem so, for only a few days after the West estate fire, the office, which had been placid enough a minute before, began to buzz.
“Big fire on Main Street,” shouted Mr. Nixon, slamming down his desk phone and jumping up. “And Mack’s out to lunch.”