“I beg your pardon—” he began, before he recognized his sister. Then, “Jo, you imp! Where’d you come from?”
“Tim, I’m sorry,” she pleaded. “But I had to see what you did on your beat.”
“Tagging me—making a fool of me,” Tim fairly sputtered.
“Tim, there’s two children on Gay Street, crying—I think it’s ‘news.’”
“News! What do you know about news?” scoffed Tim. “Probably lost the penny they were going to spend on candy.”
“No, the boy said that their mother was dead and their father went away. If the mother just died, you could at least get an obit out of it,” she explained.
“Sounds like a decent human interest story,” Tim admitted. “Say, maybe the father couldn’t pay the rent and got dispossessed.”
They came successfully through the revolving doors and started down Gay Street together. “Is that the gang over there?” He pointed across at the boy and girl. “They do look forlorn. Maybe I’ve found a big story. You go on home, Jo. I don’t want you following me around on my beat. Looks crazy.”
No use trying to explain her real motive to him. “Did the flower shop girl give you a story?” she asked, partly to make conversation and partly because she was curious.
“A wedding. I’ll hand it over to Betty.”