“And get thrown out on our collective ear before we even have a chance to snap a picture of the blushing bride!”
“Pictures! Pictures!” exclaimed Penny. “That’s all you photographers think about. How about poor little me and my story? After all, you can’t bring out a paper full of nothing but pictures and cigarette ads. You need a little news to go with it.”
“You like to work too fast,” complained Salt. “Right now the thing to do is to keep out of sight. I’m telling you the minute Mrs. Kippy finishes with those men she’ll be gunning for us.”
“Then I suppose we’ll have to go into hiding.”
“First, let’s mosey out into the rose garden,” Salt proposed. “I’ll take a few shots and then we’ll duck under somewhere and wait until the ceremony starts.”
“That’s all very well for you,” grumbled Penny, “but I can’t write much of a story without talking to some member of the family.”
Salt started off across the velvety green lawn toward the rose arbor where the service was to be held. Penny followed reluctantly. She watched the photographer take several pictures before a servant approached him.
“I beg your pardon,” the man said coldly, “but Mrs. Kippenberg gave orders no pictures were to be taken. If you are from one of the papers—”
“Oh, I saw her in the house just a minute ago,” Salt replied carelessly.
“Sorry, sir,” the servant apologized, retreating.