Miss Briggs, upon whom they were to rely so greatly, proved to be a woman of tremendous energy and undoubted ability.  She was thirty-five years of age and had been engaged in newspaper work ever since she was eighteen.  Bright and cheerful, of even temper and shrewd comprehension, Miss Briggs listened to the eager explanations of the three girls who had undertaken this queer venture, and assured them she would assist in making a newspaper that would be a credit to them all.  She understood clearly the conditions; that inexperience was backed by ample capital and unpractical ideas by unlimited enthusiasm.

“This job may not last long,” she told herself, “but while it does it will be mighty amusing.  I shall enjoy these weeks in a quiet country town after the bustle of the big city.”

So here were seven regular employees of the Millville Daily Tribune already secured and the eighth was shortly to appear.  Preparations were well under way for a first edition on the Fourth of July and the office was beginning to hum with work, when one afternoon a girl strolled in and asked in a tired voice for the managing editor.

She was admitted to Patsy’s private room, where Beth and Louise were also sitting, and they looked upon their visitor in undisguised astonishment.

She was young:  perhaps not over twenty years of age.  Her face bore marks of considerable dissipation and there was a broad scar underneath her right eye.  Her hair was thin, straggling and tow-colored; her eyes large, deep-set and of a faded blue.  The girl’s dress was as queer and untidy as her personal appearance, for she wore a brown tailored coat, a short skirt and long, buttoned leggings.  A round cap of the same material as her dress was set jauntily on the back of her head, and over her shoulder was slung a fiat satchel of worn leather.  There was little that was feminine and less that was attractive about the young woman, and Patsy eyed her with distinct disfavor.

“Tommy sent me here,” said the newcomer, sinking wearily into a chair.  “I’m hired for a month, on good behavior, with a chance to stay on if I conduct myself in a ladylike manner.  I’ve been working on the Herald, you know; but there was no end of a row last week, and they fired me bodily.  Any booze for sale in this town?”

“It is a temperance community,” answered Patsy, stiffly.

“Hooray for me.  There’s a chance I’ll keep sober.  In that case you’ve acquired the best sketch artist in America.”

“Oh!  Are you the artist, then?” asked Patsy, with doubtful intonation.

“I don’t like the word.  I’m not a real artist—­just a cartoonist and newspaper hack.  Say, it’s funny to see me in this jungle, isn’t it?  What joy I’ll have in astonishing the natives!  I s’pose a picture’s a picture, to them, and Art an impenetrable mystery.  What sort of stuff do you want me to turn out?”

“I—­I’m not sure you’ll do,” said Miss Doyle, desperately.  “I—­we—­that is—­we are three quite respectable young women who have under-taken to edit the Millville Daily Tribune, and the people we have secured to assist us are all—­all quite desirable, in their way.  So—­; ahem!—­so—­”