Prudence Says So Part 16

They smiled at them. They did not call the _Daily News_ the "Raider Family Organ," as they yearned to do. They did not admit that they urged their father to put Mr. Raider on all church committees to insure publicity. They swallowed hard, and told themselves that, after all, Mr.

Raider was an editor, and perhaps he couldn't help editing his own family to the exclusion of the rest of Mount Mark.

When, on this occasion, he looked Lark up and down with his usual rotund complacency, Carol only gritted her teeth and reminded her heaving soul that he was an editor.

"What are you going to do this summer, Lark?" he asked, without preamble.

"Why,--just nothing, I suppose. As usual."

"Well," he said, frowning plumply, "we're running short of men. I've heard you're interested in our line, and I thought maybe you could help us out during vacation. How about it? The work'll be easy and it'll be fine experience for you. We'll pay you five dollars a week. This is a little town, and we're called a little publication, but our work and our aim and methods are identical with those of the big city papers." He swelled visibly, almost alarmingly. "How about it? You're the one with the literary longings, aren't you?"

Lark was utterly speechless. If the National Bank had opened its coffers to the always hard-pressed twins, she could not have been more completely confounded. Carol was in a condition nearly as serious, but grasping the gravity of the situation, she rushed into the breach headlong.

"Yes,--yes," she gasped. "She's literary. Oh, she's very literary."

Mr. Raider smiled. "Well, would you like to try your hand out with me?"

Again Carol sprang to her sister's relief.

"Yes, indeed, she would," she cried. "Yes, indeed." And then, determined to impress upon him that the _Daily News_ was the one to profit chiefly from the innovation, she added, "And it's a lucky day for the _Daily News_, too, I tell you. There aren't many Larks in Mount Mark, in a literary way, I mean, and--the _Daily News_ needs some--that is, I think--new blood,--anyhow, Lark will be just fine."

"All right. Come in, Monday morning at eight, Lark, and I'll set you to work. It won't be anything very important. You can write up the church news, and parties, and goings away, and things like that. It'll be good training. You can study our papers between now and then, to catch our style."

Carol lifted her head a little higher. If Mr. Raider thought her talented twin would be confined to the ordinary style of the _Daily News_, which Carol considered atrociously lacking in any style at all, he would be most gloriously mistaken, that's certain!

It is a significant fact that after Mr. Raider went back into the sanctum of the _Daily News_, the twins walked along for one full block without speaking. Such a thing had never happened before in all the years of their twins.h.i.+p. At the end of the block, Carol turned her head restlessly. They were eight blocks from home. But the twins couldn't run on the street, it was so undignified. She looked longingly about for a buggy bound their way. Even a grocery cart would have been a welcome though humbling conveyance.

Lark's starry eyes were lifted to the skies, and her rapt face was glowing. Carol looked behind her, looked ahead. Then she thought again of the eight blocks.

"Lark," she said, "I'm afraid we'll be late for dinner. And auntie told us to hurry back. Maybe we'd better run."

Running is a good expression for emotion, and Lark promptly struck out at a pace that did full credit to her lithe young limbs. Down the street they raced, little tendrils of hair flying about their flushed and s.h.i.+ning faces, faster, faster, breathless, panting, their gladness fairly overflowing. And many people turned to look, wondering what in the world possessed the leisurely, dignified parsonage twins.

The last block was traversed at a really alarming rate. The pa.s.sion for "telling things" had seized them both, and they whirled around the corner and across the lawn at a rate that brought Connie out into the yard to meet them, with a childish, "What's the matter? What happened?

Did something bite you?"

Aunt Grace sat up in her hammock to look, Fairy ran out to the porch, and Mr. Starr laid down his book. Had the long and dearly desired war been declared at last?

But when the twins reached the porch, they paused sheepishly, shyly.

"What's the matter?" chorused the family.

"Are--are we late for dinner?" Carol demanded earnestly, as though their lives depended on the answer.

The family stared in concerted amazement. When before this had the twins shown anxiety about their lateness for meals--unless a favorite dessert or salad was all consumed in their absence. And it was only half past four!

Carol gently shoved Connie off the cus.h.i.+on upon which she had dropped, and arranged it tenderly in a chair.

"Sit down and rest, Larkie," she said in a soft and loving voice. "Are you nearly tired to death?"

Lark sank, panting, into the chair, and gazed about the circle with brilliant eyes.

"Get her a drink, can't you, Connie?" said Carol indignantly. "Can't you see the poor thing is just tired to death? She ran the whole way home!"

Still the family stared. The twins' devotion to each other was never failing, but this attentiveness on the part of Carol was extremely odd.

Now she sat down on the step beside her sister, and gazed up into the flushed face with adoring, but somewhat patronizing, pride. After all, she had had a whole lot to do with training Larkie!

"What in the world?" began their father curiously.

"Had a sunstroke?" queried Fairy, smiling.

"You're both crazy," declared Connie, coming back with the water.

"You're trying to fool us. I won't ask any questions. You don't catch me this time."

"Why don't you lie down and let Lark use you for a footstool, Carol?"

suggested their father, with twinkling eyes.

"I would if she wanted a footstool," said Carol positively. "I'd love to do it. I'd be proud to do it. I'd consider it an honor."

Lark blushed and lowered her eyes modestly.

"What happened?" urged their father, still more curiously.

"Did she get you out of a sc.r.a.pe?" mocked Fairy.

"Oh, just let 'em alone," said Connie. "They think it's smart to be mysterious. Nothing happened at all. That's what they call being funny."

"Tell it, Lark." Carol's voice was so intense that it impressed even skeptical Connie and derisive Fairy.

Lark raised the glowing eyes once more, leaned forward and said thrillingly:

"It's the Literary Career."

The silence that followed this bold announcement was sufficiently dramatic to satisfy even Carol, and she patted Lark's knee approvingly.

"Well, go on," urged Connie, at last, when the twins continued silent.

"That's all."

"She's going to run the _Daily News_."

"Oh, I'll only be a cub reporter, I guess that's what you call them."

"Reporter nothing," contradicted Carol. "There's nothing literary about that. You must take the whole paper in hand, and color it up a bit. And for goodness' sake, polish up Mr. Raider's editorials. I could write editorials like his myself."

"And you might tone down the family notes for him," suggested Fairy. "We don't really care to know when Mrs. Kelly borrows eggs of the editor's wife and how many dolls Betty got for Christmas and Jack's grades in high school. We can get along without those personal touches."

"Maybe you can give us a little church write-up now and then, without necessitating Mr. Raider as chairman of every committee," interposed their father, and then retracted quickly. "I was only joking, of course, I didn't mean--"

"No, of course, you didn't, father," said Carol kindly. "We'll consider that you didn't say it. But just bear it in mind, Larkie."