A Rescue

"How beautiful!" she cried. "How beautiful!" She crossed the room and gave
her hand to Ross. "It is Mr. Schofield, isn't it? The ribbons are
delightful. I didn't know Mr. Harkless's room was so pretty."

Ross looked out of the window and laughed as he took her hand (which he
shook with a long up and down motion), but he was set at better ease by
her apparent unrecognition of the fact that the decorations were for her.
"Oh, it ain't much, I reckon," he replied, and continued to look out of
the window and laugh.

She went to the desk and removed her gloves and laid her rain-coat over a
chair near by. "Is this Mr. Harkless's chair?" she asked, and, Fisbee
answering that it was, she looked gravely at it for a moment, passed her
hand gently over the back of it, and then, throwing the rain-cloak over
another chair, said cheerily: "Do you know, I think the first thing for us to do will be to dust
everything very carefully."

"You remember I was confident she would know precisely where to begin?"
was Fisbee's earnest whisper in the willing ear of the long foreman. "Not
an instant's indecision, was there?"

"No, siree!" replied the other; and, as he went down to the press-room to
hunt for a feather-duster which he thought might be found there, he
collared Bud Tipworthy, who, not admitted to the conclave of his
superiors, was whistling on the rainy stairway. "You hustle and find that
dust brush we used to have. Bud," said Parker. And presently, as they
rummaged in the nooks and crannies about the machinery, he melted to his
small assistant. "The paper is saved, Buddie--saved by an angel in light
brown. You can tell it by the look of her."