A Rescue

The drizzle and mist blew in under the top of the cut-under as they drove
rapidly into town, and bright little drops sparkled on the fair hair above
the new editor's forehead and on the long lashes above the new editor's
cheeks.

She shook these transient gems off lightly, as she paused in the doorway
of the office at the top of the rickety stairway. Mr. Schofield had just
added the last touch to his decorations and managed to slide into his coat
as the party came up the stairs, and now, perspiring, proud, embarrassed,
he assumed an attitude at once deprecatory of his endeavors and pointedly
expectant of commendation for the results. (He was a modest youth and a
conscious; after his first sight of her, as she stood in the doorway, it
was several days before he could lift his distressed eyes under her
glance, or, indeed, dare to avail himself of more than a hasty and
fluttering stare at her when her back was turned.) As she entered the
room, he sidled along the wall and laughed sheepishly at nothing.

Every chair in the room was ornamented with one of his blue rosettes,
tied carefully (and firmly) to the middle slat of each chair-back. There
had been several yards of ribbon left over, and there was a hard knot of
glossy satin on each of the ink-stands and on the door-knobs; a blue band,
passing around the stovepipe, imparted an antique rakishness suggestive of
the charioteer; and a number of streamers, suspended from a hook in the
ceiling, encouraged a supposition that the employees of the "Herald"
contemplated the intricate festivities of May Day. It needed no genius to
infer that these garnitures had not embellished the editorial chamber
during Mr. Harkless's activity, but, on the contrary, had been put in
place that very morning. Mr. Fisbee had not known of the decorations, and,
as his glance fell upon them, a faint look of pain passed over his brow;
but the girl examined the room with a dancing eye, and there were both
tears and laughter in her heart.