She left Larry sitting alone in the darkened parlor, while she went about her duties. Larry sat there for half an hour. Then he began to get nervous.
“I wonder if they’ve forgotten all about me,” thought the young reporter. “I’ve got something else to do besides sitting here waiting for someone to come, and tell me about a wedding.”
He gave a loud cough, to attract the attention of anyone who might be within hearing.
“Oh, how you frightened me!” exclaimed a voice, and a tall, dark, and exceedingly pretty girl came into the room. “I didn’t know anyone was here.”
“I’m from the Leader,” said Larry, rising. “I came about the wedding.”
“Oh, are you a real, truly reporter?” asked the girl.
“Well, I think I can say I am,” replied Larry.
“Oh, I’ve always wanted to see a real reporter,” the girl went on. “It must be a grand life. Think of seeing terrible fires, and big accidents, and writing about murders, and suicides, and battles, and sudden death, and—and all sorts of horrible, scary things! Oh, I would love to be a reporter, only papa will not hear of it. Did you ever see a drowned man?”
“Several,” replied Larry, wondering what kind of a girl this was.
“Oh, how lovely! And did you ever see a real, live, truly, really murderer?”