“Cute kid.” Tim pretended to punch him in the stomach by way of welcome. Then he told her, “Nixon said my Day Nursery story was good.” Not a word about her suggestions. But, being Tim, he wouldn’t say anything. “He even said he was going to write his to-morrow’s editorial on the situation, just to see what’ll happen.”
What happened was that the Journal’s readers immediately wrote in on the subject. Some even enclosed checks, but it would take a lot of checks to enlarge the present nursery. New and larger quarters were needed. Since there was no money with which to build, a place would have to be found among the present buildings in Plainfield. At the end of a week one letter suggested that the county offer part of the old Historical Building for use as a day nursery.
The Historical Building was a landmark and was right across the street from the Journal office, on the corner. It contained relics from the time when Plainfield was first settled.
“Why wouldn’t that be a wonderful place?” asked Miss Betty of the rest of the staff later, when Joan was in the Journal office. Every one on the Journal was interested in Tommy, now, and in the nursery problem.
“It would. But they can’t get it,” drawled Cookie. “It’s because of old Mrs. McNulty. She gave a whole room full of junk to the Historical Building, and she wants the place used for that and nothing else. They approached her on the subject once before, soon as folks saw the Day Nursery wasn’t going to be big enough. But she put her foot down. The county doesn’t want to get in bad with her because she’s Hutton’s mother-in-law. The county wouldn’t care—hardly any one but country hicks or school kids go through the building any more, anyway. But the old lady won’t give in....”
“Maybe if she saw Tommy and realized how much the nursery would mean to him,” proposed Miss Betty. “A concrete case might make all the difference to a person like that, and Tommy’s an appealing kid.”
Yes, Tommy was a darling and he was thriving under the girls’ care. That wasn’t vanity. Every one said so. Tommy’s mother told them so every evening when she came to “collect” him. She always looked tired, but as soon as her eyes lighted on her small son, she looked like a different person. “You girls are giving him wonderful care,” she had told them more than once in the short time they had had him. He was getting plumper and healthier every day.
“I believe I will take him round to Mrs. McNulty’s,” Joan determined now. “And let him plead his own case.” She turned and started home. Maybe Mrs. McNulty wasn’t really mean. She was glad, however, that the woman would not know she was a sister to the cub reporter who had left her name off the list of patronesses that time.
She found that “minding” a baby and holding down a job were difficult things to combine. Of course, she hadn’t really a job, but she felt as though Tim’s were her own, somehow—and now she couldn’t keep up with it. Anyway, Tommy was so interesting that she didn’t miss the Journal excitement so much. The tricks that a two-year-old could think up! He had a passion for stealing sugar—all the door knobs were smeary and sticky where his sugary hands had reached to open the doors. You simply had to watch him every single minute, she had discovered. He was at the run-about, reaching age. Nothing was safe from him.
She found Amy waiting for her on the steps of the Martins’ porch, her face tragic. Had something happened to Tommy?