"'Fourth: That he would see the reporter—a lady—in the lake-that-burneth-with-fire before his sheds and churn and pans and cans should be put in the paper.
"'Below is how the sheds, churn, pans, and cans look to-day....' And I tell you, Mis' Toplady, she didn't spare no words. When she meant What, she said What, elaborate.
"I didn't know for a minute but we'd hev to mop Rob up off the clean floor. But Mis' Toplady she never forgot who she was.
"'Either that goes in the paper to-night,' she says, 'or you'll clean up your milk surroundin's—pick your choice. An' Sodality's through with you if you don't, besides.'
"'Put it in print! Put it in print, if you dast!' yells Rob, wind-milling his arms some.
"'No need to make an earthquake o' yourself,' Mis' Toplady points out to him, serene.
"And at that Rob adds a word intending to express a cussing idee, and he outs and down the stairs. And Mis' Toplady starts to take her article right in to Riddy. But in the door she met Riddy, hurrying into the office again. I never see anybody before that looked both red and haggard, but Riddy did. He come right to the point:—
"'Some of you ladies has got to quit handing in—news,' he says, scrabbling for a word to please Mis' Sykes. 'We're up to our eyes in here now. An' there ain't enough room in the paper, either, not without you get out eight pages or else run a supplement or else throw away the whole patent inside. An' those ways, we ain't got enough type even if we had time to burn.'
"Mis' Sykes pushed back her green shade, looking just chased.
"'What does he mean?' she says. 'Can't he tend to his type and things with us doing all the work?'