“That’s a big compliment the editor’s giving Tim,” Joan whispered to Chub, now. He nodded over a cold drumstick in reply.
Talk rattled on. Jokes and clever banter were battered about the table, flung from one to another, like a baseball. The head pressman’s three little boys, up at the other end of the table, were almost choking with the effort of trying to eat and giggle at the same time. The only one who was apparently taking no part in the fun was Dummy. He was sitting on the other side of the table, with the editor’s family and was feeding little Ruthie something out of a bowl. Zweiback and milk was her supper, but she was contented with it.
“Ice cream and cake coming. Save room!” one of the refreshment committee cautioned Chub. He blushed as every one laughed.
Poor Dummy. He was missing all the jibes, but he seemed to be enjoying himself anyway. Was he only acting a part in being nice to little Ruthie? Wouldn’t he be surprised if he knew that they had seen him there with Mr. Tebbets, and that they knew his wicked secret? Now he was playing a silent game of peekaboo with the baby. Silently, Dummy would remove wrinkled hands from his dull blue eyes and little Ruthie would bubble over with baby chuckles.
“I don’t see,” Joan mused to herself, as she ate another olive, “how a man can seem so nice and make a baby like him like that and still be such a deep-dyed villain.”
Every one was tired the next day, for the Journal family had lingered at the picnic woods to make the trip home by moonlight. Perhaps that was why a mistake occurred the very next afternoon. It was in a story Tim had written, too. He was not in the office when the error was discovered. Mr. Nixon had sent him up to the library to get a list of new books, in response to a request from Miss Bird, the librarian.
Chub told Joan about the mistake. “Old Nix’s on his ear.” He seemed as worried as though it were his own brother. “There’s another mistake in one of Tim’s stories. That write-up about the patronesses of the flower show the Women’s Club gives every year for the benefit of the hospital. Old Mrs. McNulty’s name was left off the list.”
“But is that anything so terrible?” Joan asked. Oh, dear, another mistake!
“Well, you see, the old lady is Mr. Hutton’s mother-in-law, you know,” he explained. “She likes publicity, too, even though she pretends not to. She called the chief up and gave him a good raking over, I guess. The whole office was pretty blue. Seems she gives lavishly to things she’s interested in and is sore as a boil about her name being left off. Besides, the paper wants to stand in good with her.”