“Mark ’em ‘first’ and ‘second,’” Tim shouted. “I’m going to run the whole letters, just as written.”
Joan patted Em before she decided. Em loved this table, too. Now, she was curled upon a heap of papers from small surrounding towns that Miss Betty clipped for social items, and was batting her topaz eyes, almost asleep. Then, Joan bent over with the stub of blue pencil Mr. Nixon had given her, and with quick decision, she wrote a Roman I on Jimmy’s letter and a II on Eric’s.
There, she had done it! Mr. Nixon was standing by Tim’s typewriter, waiting for the copy. It was the last bit, for the composing men were ready to lock up the forms. “End that sentence,” he commanded Tim. “We’re waiting on that story.” He vanished through the swinging door.
Joan continued to sit at the table. Things were always so hurried until press time, and then the rush was over. She and Chub often worked puzzles and tried writing headlines and doing all sorts of things at this time of the day. Chub always had a new enthusiasm, and Joan found most of them interesting. Somehow, the things boys did were always more fun than what girls did. For awhile, Chub had been studying a book, How to Be a Detective, and was always trying to make a mystery out of everything. Dummy, of course, was a real mystery. No one could deny that. Now, Chub had sent away for a book of magic.
To-day he came up to the long table, with an ink bottle in his hand. He put it on the table and uncorked it. “It’s magic ink,” he informed her. “I made it. The book showed how—out of different chemicals. It writes just like any ink, but only lasts a day or so, and then it becomes invisible. To get it back, you have to hold it over heat.”
He was about to demonstrate its powers when Em, suddenly awake, stood up and patted her front paws at the bottle, sniffing and scratching.
“What ails her?” asked the office boy.
Joan wrinkled up her nose. “It’s that ink. It has a funny smell—she hates some smells like gunpowder, but this is sort of like sassafras. She likes it. She thinks it’s catnip, I guess.”
Em had succeeded in wetting one paw. Then she rolled over and over upon the floor, rubbing her nose with her paws, her eyes beaming, purring loudly all the while.