“I did twice,” said Peter. “I want to go to bed. Aw-ful sleepy!” and, with a yawn that set the others to imitating him, he stumbled off toward the stairs, in his little night clothes. Polly followed to make him comfortable, while Mr. Osgood took Catherine home.
“You did us a great service to-night, my dear,” he said, as he lifted his hat to say good night, when she had reached her home porch. “But I haven’t learned yet how you happened to find them.”
“I was out reporting for the Courier,” she told him and then, laughing softly at his astonished expression, explained her meaning. “And though I did find out the news, I can’t write it up,” she sighed. “I know how real journalists feel when they have to sacrifice a scoop for reasons of delicacy.”
“The Courier shall not suffer!” said Mr. Osgood. “Since it was for its sake that you went out, I’ll have to see that Max gets a little assistance. My profession doesn’t advertise, but I have some influence with one or two concerns that do, and I’ll see that your next number is full of something more profitable to the management than harrowing accounts of midnight searches for missing babies!”
271CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THE LAST PARTY
Rain.
Rain.
Rain.
“It’s beastly,” said Alice, with her nose pressed to the window-pane, watching the cold drifting downpour.