A Substitute Journalist by Lucy Maud
Clifford Baxter came into the sitting-room where Patty was darning
stockings and reading a book at the same time. Patty could do things
like that. The stockings were well darned too, and Patty understood
and remembered what she read.
Clifford flung himself into a chair with a sigh of weariness. "Tired?"
queried Patty sympathetically.
"Yes, rather. I've been tramping about the wharves all day gathering
longshore items. But, Patty, I've got a chance at last. Tonight as I
was leaving the office Mr. Harmer gave me a real assignment for
tomorrow—two of them in fact, but only one of importance. I'm to go
and interview Mr. Keefe on this new railroad bill that's up before the
legislature. He's in town, visiting his old college friend, Mr. Reid,
and he's quite big game. I wouldn't have had the assignment, of
course, if there'd been anyone else to send, but most of the staff
will be away all day tomorrow to see about that mine explosion at
Midbury or the teamsters' strike at Bainsville, and I'm the only one
available. Harmer gave me a pretty broad hint that it was my chance to
win my spurs, and that if I worked up a good article out of it I'd
stand a fair show of being taken on permanently next month when Alsop
leaves. There'll be a shuffle all round then, you know. Everybody on
the staff will be pushed up a peg, and that will leave a vacant space
at the foot."
Patty threw down her darning needle and clapped her hands with
delight. Clifford gazed at her admiringly, thinking that he had the
prettiest sister in the world—she was so bright, so eager, so rosy.
"Oh, Clifford, how splendid!" she exclaimed. "Just as we'd begun to
give up hope too. Oh, you must get the position! You must hand in a
good write-up. Think what it means to us."
"Yes, I know." Clifford dropped his head on his hand and stared
rather moodily at the lamp. "But my joy is chastened, Patty. Of course
I want to get the permanency, since it seems to be the only possible
thing, but you know my heart isn't really in newspaper work. The plain
truth is I don't like it, although I do my best. You know Father
always said I was a born mechanic. If I only could get a position
somewhere among machinery—that would be my choice. There's one vacant
in the Steel and Iron Works at Bancroft—but of course I've no chance
of getting it."
"I know. It's too bad," said Patty, returning to her stockings with a
sigh. "I wish I were a boy with a foothold on the Chronicle. I
firmly believe that I'd make a good newspaper woman, if such a thing
had ever been heard of in Aylmer."
"That you would. You've twice as much knack in that line as I have.
You seem to know by instinct just what to leave out and put in. I
never do, and Harmer has to blue-pencil my copy mercilessly. Well,
I'll do my best with this, as it's very necessary I should get the
permanency, for I fear our family purse is growing very slim. Mother's
face has a new wrinkle of worry every day. It hurts me to see it."
"And me," sighed Patty. "I do wish I could find something to do too.
If only we both could get positions, everything would be all right.
Mother wouldn't have to worry so. Don't say anything about this chance
to her until you see what comes of it. She'd only be doubly
disappointed if nothing did. What is your other assignment?"
"Oh, I've got to go out to Bancroft on the morning train and write up
old Mr. Moreland's birthday celebration. He is a hundred years old,
and there's going to be a presentation and speeches and that sort of
thing. Nothing very exciting about it. I'll have to come back on the
three o'clock train and hurry out to catch my politician before he
leaves at five. Take a stroll down to meet my train, Patty. We can go
out as far as Mr. Reid's house together, and the walk will do you
The Baxters lived in Aylmer, a lively little town with two
newspapers, the Chronicle and the Ledger. Between these two was a
sharp journalistic rivalry in the matter of "beats" and "scoops." In
the preceding spring Clifford had been taken on the Chronicle on
trial, as a sort of general handyman. There was no pay attached to the
position, but he was getting training and there was the possibility of
a permanency in September if he proved his mettle. Mr. Baxter had died
two years before, and the failure of the company in which Mrs.
Baxter's money was invested had left the little family dependent on
their own resources. Clifford, who had cherished dreams of a course in
mechanical engineering, knew that he must give them up and go to the
first work that offered itself, which he did staunchly and
uncomplainingly. Patty, who hitherto had had no designs on a "career,"
but had been sunnily content to be a home girl and Mother's right
hand, also realized that it would be well to look about her for
something to do. She was not really needed so far as the work of the
little house went, and the whole burden must not be allowed to fall on
Clifford's eighteen-year-old shoulders. Patty was his senior by a
year, and ready to do her part unflinchingly.
The next afternoon Patty went down to meet Clifford's train. When it
came, no Clifford appeared. Patty stared about her at the hurrying
throngs in bewilderment. Where was Clifford? Hadn't he come on the
train? Surely he must have, for there was no other until seven
o'clock. She must have missed him somehow. Patty waited until
everybody had left the station, then she walked slowly homeward. As
the Chronicle office was on her way, she dropped in to see if
Clifford had reported there.
She found nobody in the editorial offices except the office boy, Larry
Brown, who promptly informed her that not only had Clifford not
arrived, but that there was a telegram from him saying that he had
missed his train. Patty gasped in dismay. It was dreadful!
"Where is Mr. Harmer?" she asked.
"He went home as soon as the afternoon edition came out. He left
before the telegram came. He'll be furious when he finds out that
nobody has gone to interview that foxy old politician," said Larry,
who knew all about Clifford's assignment and its importance.
"Isn't there anyone else here to go?" queried Patty desperately.
Larry shook his head. "No, there isn't a soul in. We're mighty
short-handed just now on account of the explosion and the strike."
Patty went downstairs and stood for a moment in the hall, rapt in
reflection. If she had been at home, she verily believed she would
have sat down and cried. Oh, it was too bad, too disappointing!
Clifford would certainly lose all chance of the permanency, even if
the irate news editor did not discharge him at once. What could she
do? Could she do anything? She must do something.
"If I only could go in his place," moaned Patty softly to herself.
Then she started. Why not? Why not go and interview the big man
herself? To be sure, she did not know a great deal about interviewing,
still less about railroad bills, and nothing at all about politics.
But if she did her best it might be better than nothing, and might at
least save Clifford his present hold.
With Patty, to decide was to act. She flew back to the reporters'
room, pounced on a pencil and tablet, and hurried off, her breath
coming quickly, and her eyes shining with excitement. It was quite a
long walk out to Mr. Reid's place and Patty was tired when she got
there, but her courage was not a whit abated. She mounted the steps
and rang the bell undauntedly.
"Can I see Mr.—Mr.—Mr.—" Patty paused for a moment in dismay. She
had forgotten the name. The maid who had come to the door looked her
over so superciliously that Patty flushed with indignation. "The
gentleman who is visiting Mr. Reid," she said crisply. "I can't
remember his name, but I've come to interview him on behalf of the
Chronicle. Is he in?"
"If you mean Mr. Reefer, he is," said the maid quite respectfully.
Evidently the Chronicle's name carried weight in the Reid
establishment. "Please come into the library. I'll go and tell him."
Patty had just time to seat herself at the table, spread out her paper
imposingly, and assume a businesslike air when Mr. Reefer came in. He
was a tall, handsome old man with white hair, jet-black eyes, and a
mouth that made Patty hope she wouldn't stumble on any questions he
wouldn't want to answer. Patty knew she would waste her breath if she
did. A man with a mouth like that would never tell anything he didn't
want to tell.
"Good afternoon. What can I do for you, madam?" inquired Mr. Reefer
with the air and tone of a man who means to be courteous, but has no
time or information to waste.
Patty was almost overcome by the "Madam." For a moment, she quailed.
She couldn't ask that masculine sphinx questions! Then the thought of
her mother's pale, careworn face flashed across her mind, and all her
courage came back with an inspiriting rush. She bent forward to look
eagerly into Mr. Reefer's carved, granite face, and said with a frank
"I have come to interview you on behalf of the Chronicle about the
railroad bill. It was my brother who had the assignment, but he has
missed his train and I have come in his place because, you see, it is
so important to us. So much depends on this assignment. Perhaps Mr.
Harmer will give Clifford a permanent place on the staff if he turns
in a good article about you. He is only handyman now. I just couldn't
let him miss the chance—he might never have another. And it means so
much to us and Mother."
"Are you a member of the Chronicle staff yourself?" inquired Mr.
Reefer with a shade more geniality in his tone.
"Oh, no! I've nothing to do with it, so you won't mind my being
inexperienced, will you? I don't know just what I should ask you, so
won't you please just tell me everything about the bill, and Mr.
Harmer can cut out what doesn't matter?"
Mr. Reefer looked at Patty for a few moments with a face about as
expressive as a graven image. Perhaps he was thinking about the bill,
and perhaps he was thinking what a bright, vivid, plucky little girl
this was with her waiting pencil and her air that strove to be
businesslike, and only succeeded in being eager and hopeful and
"I'm not used to being interviewed myself," he said slowly, "so I
don't know very much about it. We're both green hands together, I
imagine. But I'd like to help you out, so I don't mind telling you
what I think about this bill, and its bearing on certain important
Mr. Reefer proceeded to tell her, and Patty's pencil flew as she
scribbled down his terse, pithy sentences. She found herself asking
questions too, and enjoying it. For the first time, Patty thought she
might rather like politics if she understood them—and they did not
seem so hard to understand when a man like Mr. Reefer explained them.
For half an hour he talked to her, and at the end of that time Patty
was in full possession of his opinion on the famous railroad bill in
all its aspects.
"There now, I'm talked out," said Mr. Reefer. "You can tell your news
editor that you know as much about the railroad bill as Andrew Reefer
knows. I hope you'll succeed in pleasing him, and that your brother
will get the position he wants. But he shouldn't have missed that
train. You tell him that. Boys with important things to do mustn't
miss trains. Perhaps it's just as well he did in this case though,
but tell him not to let it happen again."
Patty went straight home, wrote up her interview in ship-shape form,
and took it down to the Chronicle office. There she found Mr.
Harmer, scowling blackly. The little news editor looked to be in a
rather bad temper, but he nodded not unkindly to Patty. Mr. Harmer
knew the Baxters well and liked them, although he would have
sacrificed them all without a qualm for a "scoop."
"Good evening, Patty. Take a chair. That brother of yours hasn't
turned up yet. The next time I give him an assignment, he'll manage to
be on hand in time to do it."
"Oh," cried Patty breathlessly, "please, Mr. Harmer, I have the
interview here. I thought perhaps I could do it in Clifford's place,
and I went out to Mr. Reid's and saw Mr. Reefer. He was very kind
"Mr. who?" fairly shouted Mr. Harmer.
"Mr. Reefer—Mr. Andrew Reefer. He told me to tell you that this
article contained all he knew or thought about the railroad bill
But Mr. Harmer was no longer listening. He had snatched the neatly
written sheets of Patty's report and was skimming over them with a
practised eye. Then Patty thought he must have gone crazy. He danced
around the office, waving the sheets in the air, and then he dashed
frantically up the stairs to the composing room.
Ten minutes later, he returned and shook the mystified Patty by the
"Patty, it's the biggest beat we've ever had! We've scooped not only
the Ledger, but every other newspaper in the country. How did you do
it? How did you ever beguile or bewitch Andrew Reefer into giving you
"Why," said Patty in utter bewilderment, "I just went out to Mr.
Reid's and asked for the gentleman who was visiting there—I'd
forgotten his name—and Mr. Reefer came down and I told him my
brother had been detailed to interview him on behalf of the
Chronicle about the bill, and that Clifford had missed his train,
and wouldn't he let me interview him in his place and excuse my
inexperience—and he did."
"It wasn't Andrew Reefer I told Clifford to interview," laughed Mr.
Harmer. "It was John C. Keefe. I didn't know Reefer was in town, but
even if I had I wouldn't have thought it a particle of use to send a
man to him. He has never consented to be interviewed before on any
known subject, and he's been especially close-mouthed about this bill,
although men from all the big papers in the country have been after
him. He is notorious on that score. Why, Patty, it's the biggest
journalistic fish that has ever been landed in this office. Andrew
Reefer's opinion on the bill will have a tremendous influence. We'll
run the interview as a leader in a special edition that is under way
already. Of course, he must have been ready to give the information to
the public or nothing would have induced him to open his mouth. But to
think that we should be the first to get it! Patty, you're a brick!"
Clifford came home on the seven o'clock train, and Patty was there to
meet him, brimful of her story. But Clifford also had a story to tell
and got his word in first.
"Now, Patty, don't scold until you hear why I missed the train. I met
Mr. Peabody of the Steel and Iron Company at Mr. Moreland's and got
into conversation with him. When he found out who I was, he was
greatly interested and said Father had been one of his best friends
when they were at college together. I told him about wanting to get
the position in the company, and he had me go right out to the works
and see about it. And, Patty, I have the place. Goodbye to the grind
of newspaper items and fillers. I tried to get back to the station at
Bancroft in time to catch the train but I couldn't, and it was just as
well, for Mr. Keefe was suddenly summoned home this afternoon, and
when the three-thirty train from town stopped at Bancroft he was on
it. I found that out and I got on, going to the next station with him
and getting my interview after all. It's here in my notebook, and I
must hurry up to the office and hand it in. I suppose Mr. Harmer will
be very much vexed until he finds that I have it."
"Oh, no. Mr. Harmer is in a very good humour," said Patty with dancing
eyes. Then she told her story.
The interview with Mr. Reefer came out with glaring headlines, and the
Chronicle had its hour of fame and glory. The next day Mr. Harmer
sent word to Patty that he wanted to see her.
"So Clifford is leaving," he said abruptly when she entered the
office. "Well, do you want his place?"
"Mr. Harmer, are you joking?" demanded Patty in amazement.
"Not I. That stuff you handed in was splendidly written—I didn't have
to use the pencil more than once or twice. You have the proper
journalist instinct all right. We need a lady on the staff anyhow, and
if you'll take the place it's yours for saying so, and the permanency
"I'll take it," said Patty promptly and joyfully.
"Good. Go down to the Symphony Club rehearsal this afternoon and
report it. You've just ten minutes to get there," and Patty joyfully
and promptly departed.