Tim hardly knew what to say. He gave Joan a grateful look and murmured, “Gee, kid, I never dreamed there was a real spy.”
“Didn’t I say so all along?” demanded Chub. “I knew mistakes were happening before Dummy and Tim came to work here.” He acted as though he had done all the detective work himself, but Joan was too happy to mind. Tim had intimated that she had really helped him. Why, it was almost as if he had told her she was a good sport.
Even Bossy added his bit. “So it was that feller, Mack, that let wrong stuff get in the papah. Mistakes is bad!”
If Mack had added the paragraph to this fire story, then, Joan thought, he had probably typed a new beginning to that story of the deserted children—the very first mistake she had known anything about.
When Mack came out of Uncle John’s office, he did not say good-by to any one, not even to Miss Betty, but just grabbed his hat and went out of the office. Gertie, on seeing him go past her counter, guessed by his manner that something was wrong, and rushed back into the editorial room to find out what, brushing past the printers and linotype men who were filing out, their day’s work over.
“Well, Joan was right,” said Mr. Nixon, as he seated himself behind his desk again. “Martin, I guess your job’s safe enough, now. Want it back?”
Tim nodded his answer. He hardly knew what to say. Mr. Nixon opened up his red date book and wrote something in it. He was giving Tim an assignment for the next day. “Maybe we can make you sport editor around here one of these days. I haven’t forgotten what a cracker jack write-up you did of the Journal team victory over the Star,” smiled the editor.
Sport editor! Tim could only grin. Joan knew he would be a good one—probably be better at that than at straight reporting. Hadn’t he been the high school star in athletics? He could go on to college now, for his job was safe; Mr. Nixon had said so. And with the spy, Mack, gone, the Journal was safe now, too.
But the entire staff—Miss Betty and Cookie and Chub—were rushing up to Joan herself.
“Gee,” said Gertie, over her chewing gum, “if you keep on, Jo, you’ll be the star reporter around here.”