“If you’ve got the time to spare, I’d like to have you look over our first issue. Here’s a copy.”
Helen’s mother scanned the paper with keen, critical eyes.
“It looks wonderful to me,” she exclaimed. “I like the heads on the front page and you’ve so many good stories. Tom did splendidly on the ads. How proud your father will be when he gets a copy.”
“I thought perhaps you’d like to write his address on a wrapper and we’ll put it in the mail tonight when the other papers go out,” said Helen.
Mrs. Blair nodded and addressed the wrapper Helen supplied.
“If you’re sure there’s nothing I can do at the office,” she said, “I’ll go on to the kensington at Mrs. Henderson’s.”
“Don’t forget to pick up all the news you can at the party,” cautioned Helen.
“I won’t,” promised her mother.
Helen had just finished folding the papers when Tom returned with Milt Pearsall.
The mechanic was a large, heavy-set man with a mop of unruly hair, eyes that twinkled a merry blue, and lips that constantly smiled.