They all looked over to the corner where Em was unconcernedly licking her black paw.
“It’s the second time she proved herself a heroine,” Joan thought to herself. She had led Joan to the charity play story—and now this. Dummy had hid the story, she was sure, and had been only pretending in his argument with Mack. You couldn’t tell about the proofreader. Yet, here was another mistake that had happened and Dummy had not been to blame.
CHAPTER XIV
SACRED COW
“That is the curse of the newspaper game,” said Mr. Nixon one busy lunch time, a few days later, as he banged down the receiver of his desk phone.
The office was deserted except for Cookie, over in his corner, and Joan, who had strolled in expecting to find Miss Betty. But the society editor had gone to report a lecture at the Music Club luncheon. Tim and Mack were out, too; Cookie did not look up at the editor’s remark. So it seemed that he must be talking to Joan.
“What is?” she asked.
“What?” his bushy brows went up. “I guess I was talking to myself. It’s a sign of old age. But I meant—Sacred Cow.”
Sacred Cow. Joan didn’t understand. Cookie was busy, but she just had to ask him. He was always nice about questions.
“Why, just a ‘puff’—you know, free publicity for advertisers. They never seem to ask for it at a reasonable time, but always when we have to do everything but hold the presses to give it to them.”
Then, of course, Joan knew. Those squibs Miss Betty sometimes stuck into the society columns about what good dinners the Tea Room served. That was Sacred Cow.