“Maybe it’s a good thing. We’ll both start over and this afternoon we can rehearse upstairs in my room.”
“Grand. I’ve got to go home and help mother for a while, but I’ll be back by 2:30 o’clock and we’ll start in.”
Breakfast over, Janet went to the door with Helen. The day was bright and almost unbelievably clear. The temperature was rising rapidly, the wind had gone down, and their experience of the night before seemed very far away. Rivulets of water were starting to run down the streets and before nightfall the gutters would be full of the melting snow and slush.
Janet found a multitude of little things to do around home to help her mother and the first interruption came with the ringing of the telephone. Her mother answered, but then summoned Janet.
“It’s the Times,” said Mrs. Hardy.
Janet took the instrument and recognized the voice of the city editor of the local paper.
“I need a good first person story of what took place inside the bus, Janet,” said Pete Benda. “Can you come down to the office and write a yarn? You’ve had enough experience with your high school page to do the trick and do it well.”
“But it all seems so far away and kind of vague now,” protested Janet.
“Listen, Janet, I’ve got to have that story.” Pete was cajoling now. “Haven’t we done a lot of favors for your high school page?”
“Yes, but—.”