“But—­there’s Jerry!” said Sally, suddenly, smitten with unpleasant recollection in the midst of this harmonious readjustment.  “He—­he heard, you know.  And we can’t deny that, and it means so much to him!  He’ll have telephoned up to town by this time, and the Call will run it anyway—­newspaper editors are such beasts about those things!”

And again she and young Anthony drooped, and clung to each other’s hands.

“I have been thinking,” said the other Anthony, slowly, “that I see a way out of this.  I hope I see one!  I’d like—­I’d like to discuss it with Miss Sally.  If you’ll just step down to the—­the chicken yard, Bud, for five minutes, say.  We’ll call you.  And it’s just possible that we can—­can arrange matters.”

Half an hour later, Jerry Billings succeeded a second time in getting the city editor of the Call on the long-distance wire.

“Hello, Mr. Watts!  Say, about that engagement of young Fox, Mr. Watts,” he began.

“Well, what’s the matter with it?” came back the editor’s voice, sharply.

“Nothing’s the matter with it,” said Jerry, “only it’s better than I thought!  It’s—­it’s old Fox that Miss Mix is going to marry!  Old A.F. himself!”

“Who said so?” snapped the other.

“Fox did.”

“Fox?”

“Yes, sir.  He just telephoned to me.  Gave me the whole thing.  Said he wanted it to be published straight.”

There was a pregnant silence for a few moments, then: 

“This is no jolly, Billings?  It’s big stuff if it’s true, you know.”

“Oh, it’s true enough,” said Jerry, trying to control his voice.

“Well, we’ve got his picture—­I’m sure!” said Mr. Watts, calmly.  Then in obedience to Mr. Watts’ curt “Hold the wire!” Jerry, with the receiver pressed to his ear, heard the city editor’s voice on another telephone on his desk talking presumably to the make-up man on the next floor.

“Hello, Frank!” said Watts.  “Tell Mike Williams to run that suffragette stuff on the third page.  I’ve got a big story.  I want room for a double cut and a column on the front!”

Then:  “Hello, Billings!  You telephone me six hundred words on this thing inside of an hour.  No frills you understand.  Just give me the straight facts.  We’ll fix the yarn up here.”

SHANDON WATERS

“For mercy’s sakes, here comes Shandon Waters!” said Jane Dinwoodie, of the post-office, leaving her pigeonholes to peer through the one small window of that unpretentious building.  “Mother, here’s Shandon Waters driving into town with the baby!” breathed pretty Mary Dickey, putting an awed face into the sitting-room.  “I declare that looks terrible like Shandon!” ejaculated Johnnie Larabee, straightening up at her wash-tubs and shading her eyes with her hand.  “Well, what on earth brought her up to town!” said all Deaneville, crowding to the windows and doorways and halting the march of the busy Monday morning to watch a mud-spattered cart come bumping up and down over the holes in the little main street.