A telephone rang, and this time, Mr. DeWitt, looking straight at Penny, said: “An obituary. Will you take it?”
She went to the phone and copied down the facts carefully, knowing that while death notices were routine, they were of vital interest to readers of the paper. Any mistake of fact could prove serious.
Returning to her typewriter, she wrote the item. But after she had turned it in, Mr. DeWitt called her to his desk. He was pleasant but firm.
“What day are services to be held?” he asked. “Who are the survivors? Where did the woman die? Furthermore, we never use the word ‘Funeral Home’. Instead, we say ‘mortuary’.”
Penny telephoned for more information, and finally after rewriting the notice twice more, succeeded in getting it past Mr. DeWitt. But as he tossed the story to a copy reader, she saw that he had pencilled several changes.
“There’s more to writing routine stories than I thought,” she reflected. “I’ll really have to dig in unless I want to disgrace Dad.”
Penny was given another obituary to write which proved nearly as difficult as the first. Hopelessly discouraged, she started for the rest room to get a drink and wash her hands.
As she entered the lounge, voices reached her ears, and instantly she realized that Elda Hunt was talking to another girl reporter about her.
“The publisher’s daughter!” she heard her say scathingly. “As if we aren’t having a hard enough time here, without having to coddle her along!”
“I didn’t think she seemed so bad,” the other replied. “She’ll catch on.”