“Excuse me, Mr. Carroll, but there’s a lady outside who wants to see you.”
The proprietor of the Bulletin frowned at the reporter who made this announcement. The latter’s desk was situated near the door of the editorial room, and therefore it had fallen to his lot to respond to the fair visitor’s timid knock upon that portal.
“A lady!” muttered Carroll peevishly. “Who is she, and what does she want?” This was only a short time after his painful discovery of the loss of those precious negatives, and he was not feeling at all in the mood to receive visitors.
“She says that she wants to sell you some pictures, sir—some photographs,” the reporter announced.
The frown upon Carroll’s face deepened. “Tell her I don’t want any,” he said. Pictures were a very sore subject just then. “Tell her to come around some other day, when I’m not so busy.”
The Camera Chap, who was seated at Carroll’s elbow, smiled. “Why not see what she’s got?” he suggested mildly. “Don’t be a grouch, Fred. Maybe these pictures may be something we want—something that will be newsy enough for to-morrow’s front page, to take the place of the missing ones.”
Carroll shook his head. “Precious little chance of that,” he grumbled. “I’ll bet they’re photographs of the latest Paris fashions, a new style of hair dressing, or some such rot. However, I suppose I’d better see her.”
Two minutes later he was mighty glad that he had come to this determination. He jumped to his feet with an exclamation of astonishment as he caught sight of the girl advancing toward his desk.
“Melba!” he cried. “You here—in the Bulletin office! What on earth does this mean?”
The girl laughed. “Why, really, Fred, this isn’t a very gracious reception. You actually seem more alarmed than glad to see me—doesn’t he, Mr. Hawley?”