"She says," said Claire, "that she knows it is good, and if the Times-Leader pays a dollar a line, the way lots of the magazines do, she will get a hundred dollars for it."
"Great Scott!" said Colonel Maslin. "How long is it?"
"Twenty stanzas, five lines each," said Claire. "She made them four lines each at first, then she put on a sort of refrain, on account of the extra dollar."
"A very businesslike young poet," said Colonel Maslin. "I would like to see a sample of that poem. I am not sure that I would have time to read twenty stanzas, but I could get a good idea of it from eight or ten verses, no doubt."
"Well, we will see it all, if it is published," said Claire. "Mabel says she will not allow them to print it unless they pay her price for it. She says good work is always worth its price."
Colonel Maslin shook his head solemnly. "That beats all!" he said. "I suppose by now she has her check and is wondering what to do with the one hundred dollars."
Nothing like that was happening to Mabel!
Since the fatal Sunday when she had refused to attend the office boy's picnic, he had regarded her with such scorn that it was apparent to the whole force. Mabel's small, shy overtures of friendship were simply scoffed at. He did not leave her alone; he put himself in her way for the pleasure it gave him to stalk off again, with a grin on his face and his snub nose in the air. Reams of society notes which Mabel had written, only to have them discarded by Miss Gere, he picked out of the waste baskets and laid on her desk, saying loudly, "I think these are yours, Miss Brewster."
When she went out at night, she found him hanging affectionately over Frank's shoulder, but at the sight of her he turned and strutted off.
Mabel was sure that the City Editor was watching her more than he had at first, but her conceit took that as a compliment. Miss Gere's manner had not changed, but Mabel heard her sigh often.