Janet leaned back in her chair and gazed at the scudding white clouds far overhead.
“How much do you suppose they’ll pay if they accept the story?” she mused.
“Sometimes they pay thousands of dollars,” said Helen.
“But only for outstanding books or plays. I mean for little stories like this; the kind that perhaps have an idea in them that can be developed further by the studio staff.”
“Maybe a thousand dollars,” ventured Helen.
“That would be enough,” said Janet, a faraway look in her eyes.
“Now just what do you mean by that?” Helen wanted to know.
“A thousand dollars would go a long ways toward guaranteeing me a college education. Why, with what I’ve saved out of our salaries this summer, I’d have nearly two thousand dollars and I could make that go a long ways toward four years of college.”
“I’ve saved a lot this summer, too,” admitted Helen. “Dad and mother were talking this morning. We’re going back to Clarion.”
Helen was silent for a moment. Then Janet spoke.