DOROTHY DALETO THE RESCUE
DOROTHY DALETO THE RESCUE
DOROTHY DALETO THE RESCUE
DOROTHY DALE
TO THE RESCUE
CHAPTER IBAD NEWS
“Everything about the oldBugleoffice seems so changed,” said Dorothy Dale slowly. “I feel sort of——”
“Homesick?” giggled her chum, Tavia Travers.
“Exactly,” retorted Dorothy. “That gorgeous big printing press which has taken the place of the one we used to have——”
“The old one-lunger Ralph had charge of?” Tavia again interrupted airily. “It was funny, wasn’t it?”
“I think it was a dear,” declared Dorothy loyally. “It used to print the oldBuglein pretty good shape, anyway.”
“Good gracious, Doro, any one would think you were in mourning for the oldBugleoffice,” cried Tavia, exasperated. “If you want the old one-lunger back, I am sure you can get it, provided it has not gone to adorn an ash heap somewhere.”
Dorothy smiled, but her eyes were wistful. The two girls had returned to Dalton and were now staying at Tavia’s home. They had just visited the offices of theBugle, the paper formerly owned by Major Dale and which, for a number of years, had been the chief source of income of the Dale family.
The girls were impressed by the great changes that had taken place in the newspaper office. A fine new printing press had been installed, the offices renovated and modernized until all trace of the rather dingy and shabby quarters of the oldBuglehad been lost.
Small wonder that Dorothy Dale, for whom the paper had always held a peculiar fascination, felt taken aback by the great change that had taken place during her absence. It was like losing an old and dear though shabby friend and finding a prosperous but unfamiliar stranger in his place.
“Do you remember that first assignment of my journalistic career?” said Tavia, with a giggle. “I thought I was cut out for a star reporter that time, for sure.”
“That was the obituary assignment Ralph Willoby gave you, wasn’t it?” returned Dorothy, with a reminiscent chuckle. “My gracious, how many ages off that time seems, Tavia!”
“Yes, we are growing old and gray,” agreedthe flyaway sadly. “I wonder you haven’t taken to cap and spectacles long ere this, Doro, my dear. I am sure I can see white hairs gleaming in the sunlight.”
“I hope not. I don’t think Garry likes white hair,” said Dorothy demurely.
“Speaking of snowy locks, hasn’t Mr. Grant a stunning head of them?” said the irrepressible girl. “I simply adore that pepper and salt effect, don’t you, Doro?”
“I guess so,” said Dorothy absently. Her mind was still busy with theBugleoffices and the changes made there.
“I wish the Major had not sold theBugle, Tavia,” she said wistfully. “I can’t forget how I used to help get out the old paper and—I would like to do it again.”
“Good gracious, hear the child!” cried Tavia, making big eyes at her chum. “Not hungering for a career at this late date, are you, Doro? What do you suppose Garry would say to your making a reporteress of yourself?”
Dorothy dimpled and her eyes began to shine as they always did at mention of Garry Knapp.
“I suppose he wouldn’t approve,” she admitted. “He is just old-fashioned enough to think that the man ought to be the only moneymaker in the family.”
“Well, why not, as long as he can makeenough?” demanded Tavia airily. “That is really the important thing.”
“Tavia, how you talk!” Dorothy rebuked her. “You know very well you would marry Nat White if he lost every cent he had in the world.”
“Just the same, I hope he doesn’t,” replied Tavia, making a face at her more serious friend. “I like him very well just the way he is. But it will be nice when he gets white hair and whiskers like Mr. Grant,” she added pensively.
Dorothy frowned, then laughed. There was no use taking Tavia seriously, and, besides, she very rarely meant any of the flippant things she said.
The Mr. Grant whose hair and whiskers Tavia so openly admired was the new owner of theBugleand a dignified old gentleman whom Major Dale held in great esteem. To hear Tavia refer to him so flippantly rather shocked Dorothy. But then, Tavia was Tavia, and there was no use trying to change her.
“I wish the Major had not sold theBugle,” Dorothy repeated, with a sigh. “It seems, somehow, like turning against an old friend.”
The two girls walked on in silence through the lovely spring sunshine, each busy with her own thoughts. They were very happy thoughts, for both Dorothy and Tavia had every reason to be happy.
During the past winter the chums had become engaged to the “two dearest fellows in the world.” Nat White, Dorothy’s cousin and Tavia’s “bright particular star,” to use the latter’s own phrase, was expected in Dalton that afternoon. At the thought that Nat might even reach her home before Dorothy and herself, Tavia quickened her pace, eagerly urging the thoughtful Dorothy along with her.
Garry Knapp, Dorothy’s wild and woolly Westerner—again Tavia’s description—had returned to his beloved West to cultivate his land and raise the “best wheat crop anywhere near Desert City.” Dorothy was fully in sympathy with this ambition. The only part of it she did not like was the long miles that separated her from Garry and Garry from her. It was not so very long since she had seen him, yet it seemed to her like an interminable space of time.
“I bet I can guess what you are thinking about,” said Tavia, reading Dorothy’s wistful expression. “Are you on?”
“I never bet,” replied Dorothy primly, and Tavia hugged her.
“You blessed Puritan! Just for that I’ll tell you, anyway.”
“You needn’t bother,” said Dorothy hastily, for she was sometimes afraid of her friend’s intuitions.
“Oh, but I will! You were wishing like all possessed that you could be in my shoes for one little hour.”
Dorothy flushed and took refuge in an admonishing:
“How you do put things, Octavia Travers!”
“You were thinking that if your darling Garry were coming instead of Nat, you would be fox-trotting madly along this road instead of pursuing your course with every evidence of decorum,” persisted the outrageous Tavia. “Now ’fess up. Ain’t I right?”
“Maybe—all except the fox-trot,” agreed Dorothy, with a laugh. “I prefer the waltz myself.”
“Um—dreamy stuff, lights low, soft music,” drawled Tavia. “I imagine that would just suit you, Doro dear. As for myself, give me jazz every time!”
“When do you expect Nat?” asked Dorothy, jolted out of her dreamy abstraction.
“Right now, any minute. We are liable to bump into him at any corner,” replied Tavia vigorously. “My goodness, Doro, my heart is palpitating frightfully. I wonder if one ever dies of such things.”
“You won’t, that one thing is sure,” said Dorothy, looking with admiration at her chum’s flushed face and dancing eyes. “Just now youlook like nothing so much as an advertisement for health food.”
“How unromantic,” Tavia reproached her. “And just when I was pining gracefully for poor Nat, too.”
“Here he comes now!” cried Dorothy, and Tavia whirled around to see a tall figure coming swiftly toward them. Nat waved his hat boyishly and broke into a run. He reached them just as they turned the corner of the street on which Tavia lived.
“Hello there, coz!” he said, pinching Dorothy’s pretty cheek, then turned to Tavia.
“Not here in the street, you silly boy,” Tavia said, as the young man bent over her. “We are almost home. Can’t you wait?”
“Not long!” returned Nat ardently. Then, as they slowly approached Tavia’s house, he turned to Dorothy, his manner serious.
“I am afraid I have bad news for you, Dot,” he said, reluctantly adding, in response to Dorothy’s startled glance: “It’s about Joe.”