Parkman some time before
to-morrow, and ask him about this hospital story? You know, Miss
McCormick, you're the only reporter in town he'll see."
"Very well," said Georgia, with dignity.
All summer long the papers had been printing stories about Karl. It made
her loathe newspaper work every time she thought about it. To think of
their hacking at him like that--and he so quiet and dignified and brave!
A picture printed the Sunday before, of Karl fumbling his way around, had
made her more furious than she had ever been in all her life.
She turned just in time to see a grinning reporter writing on the
bulletin board: "Miss G. McCormick--Human interest story about the inner
life of a paper bag."
Sometimes it might have brought a smile, usually it would have fired her
to the desired rage, but to-day it contributed to her tearfulness. "Oh
they needn't worry," she murmured, bending her head over a drawer, and
tossing things about furiously, "there's no getting married for me! This
office has settled that!"
The city editor seemed to take special delight in sending her out on
every story which would "give married life a black eye.
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