  Later that night the Queen caught fire and burned to the water’s edge. Some said that Captain Billy, saddened by the tragedy which had almost befallen the majestic old craft, had set the fire himself but none ever knew definitely. Helen telephoned the story of Captain Billy and the burning of the Queen to the Associated Press at Cranston and found the night editor there anxious for the story. “Great human interest stuff,” he said as he hung up. The Blairs and Stevens watched the burning of the Queen from the knoll on which the Blair home was situated and later they saw the shower of fireworks set off at Crescent Beach, far down the lake. It was well after midnight when they finally called it a day, one which would long be remembered by Tom and Helen Blair and Margaret Stevens. The second day of the celebration, Sunday, they rested quietly at home and planned for the coming week. With the Monday morning mail came the papers from Cranston, a letter from McClintock of the Associated Press and new thrills for Helen. The Cranston papers blazoned her story of “Speed” Rand’s plans to circle the globe in a nonstop refueling flight on the front page and the big surprise was the first line which read: “By Helen Blair, Special Correspondent of the Associated Press, Copyright 1932 (All Rights Reserved).” Helen gazed at the story in frank awe and amazement. She knew it was a highly important story, but to get a by-line with the Associated Press was an honor she scarcely had dared dream about. The letter from McClintock commended her further for her work, promised that her monthly check would be a liberal one and added that when she finished high school he would be glad to consider her for a job with the Associated Press. Helen sat down and wrote a long letter to her father, telling in detail the events of the Fourth and enclosing the Associated Press story and her letter from McClintock. That done, she turned to the task of writing her stories for the Weekly Herald. Tom was out soliciting ads, Margaret had gone down the lake to check up at both summer resorts about possible accidents and she had the office to herself that morning. Which story should Helen write first, “Speed” Rand’s world flight, the celebration at Sandy Point or the story of Captain Billy and the Queen? She threaded a sheet of copy paper into her typewriter and sought inspiration in a blank gaze at the ceiling. Inspiration failed to come from that source and she scrawled aimlessly with pencil and paper, her mind mulling over the myriad facts of her stories. Then she started typing. Her first story concerned Captain Billy and the Queen, for Captain Billy and his ancient craft were known to every reader of the Herald. They were home news. “Speed” Rand and his plans concerned the outside world. The events of the night of the Fourth were indelibly printed in Helen’s mind and the copy rolled from her typewriter, two, four, six, ten pages. She stopped long enough to delve into the files and find the story which the Herald had printed 23 years before when the Queen made her maiden trip on Lake Dubar. Two more pages of copy rolled from her machine. Helen picked up the typed pages, 12 altogether. She hadn’t intended to make the story that long but it had written itself, it was one of those stories in which danger and heroism combine to make the human-interest that all newspaper readers enjoy. With the story of Captain Billy and the Queen out of the way, Helen wrote a short lead about “Speed” Rand and then clipped the rest of the story for the Herald from the one she had telephoned the Associated Press. Even then it would run more than a column and with a long story on the general Fourth of July celebration she felt that the Herald would indeed give its subscribers their money’s worth of news that week. There was a slight let-down in advertising the week following the Fourth but they crammed the six home-printed pages of the Herald full of news and went to press early Thursday, for it was election day and the fate of the paved road program was at stake. For the last month Helen had written editorials urging the improvement of the roads and they went directly from the office Thursday afternoon to the polling place to remain there until the last ballot had been counted. The vote was heavy and Rolfe favored the good roads 452 to 73. Doctor Stevens, who announced the vote to the anxious crowd, added, “And I think we can thank Helen Blair, our young editor of the Herald, for showing us the value of better roads.” There was hearty applause and calls for speech, but Helen refused to talk, hurrying away to telephone the Rolfe vote to the Associated Press. The morning papers announced that the program had carried in the state as a whole and that paving would start at once with Rolfe assured of being on the scenic highway not later than the next summer. News from their father in Arizona continued cheering and as their own bank account increased steadily and circulation mounted, Tom and Helen felt that they were making a success of their management of the Herald. The remainder of July passed rapidly and the hot blasts of August winds seared the valley of Lake Dubar. The only refreshing thing was the night breeze from the lake which cooled the heat-baked town and afforded some relief. Then came the cooler days of September and the return to school. Superintendent Fowler arrived a week before the opening of the fall term and Tom and Helen arranged to attend part time, yet carry full work. Helen also worked out plans for a school page, news of every grade to be written by some student especially designated as a reporter for the “School Herald.” Tom and Helen had so systematized their work that the task of getting out the paper was reduced to a minimum. With Margaret willing to help whenever needed, they felt sure they could continue the successful operation of the Herald. Every spare hour Helen devoted to building up the circulation list and by early October they had added 400 new subscribers, which gave the Herald a total of 1,272 in the county and every one paid up. “Gosh, I never thought we could get that many,” said Tom as he checked over the circulation records. “Now I’m sure we’ll be named one of the official county papers. What a surprise that will be for Dad.” “I thought you said we’d have a lot of trouble with Burr Atwell, editor of the Advocate at Auburn,” chided Helen as she recalled her brother’s dire statements of what the fiery editor of the Auburn paper would do when he found the Herald was trying to take the county printing away from him. “We’ve just been lucky so far,” replied Tom. “Atwell will wake up one of these days and then we’ll have plenty of trouble. He won’t fight fair.” “Let’s not borrow trouble until it arrives,” Helen smiled. Organization of the high school classes and election of officers followed the opening of school and Helen found herself president of the juniors while Tom was named secretary and treasurer of the seniors. “I’m mighty proud of both of you,” said Mrs. Blair when they told her the news that night at dinner. “It is no more than you deserve but I hope it won’t be too much of a burden added to your work on the paper.” “It won’t take much time,” Tom assured her, “and since Marg Stevens is vice president of the juniors Helen can turn a lot of the work over to her.” They were still at the dinner table when a heavy knock at the front door startled them. Tom answered the summons and they heard him talking with someone with an exceedingly harsh voice. When Tom returned he was accompanied by a stranger. “Mother,” he said, “this is Mr. Atwell, editor of the Auburn Advocate.” Mrs. Blair acknowledged the introduction and Tom introduced the visiting editor to Helen. Mr. Atwell sat down heavily in a chair Tom offered. “I suppose you know why I’m here?” he asked. “I’m afraid not,” replied Mrs. Blair. “It’s about the Herald and the circulation tactics of these young whipper-snappers of yours. I hear they’re trying to take the county printing away from me and become one of the official papers of the county.” “Who informed you of that?” asked Helen, who had taken an instant dislike to the pudgy visitor whose flabby cheeks were covered with a heavy stubble of whiskers. “Folks have been talking,” he replied. “When you want information like that you’d better come to those concerned,” retorted the energetic young editor of the Herald. “That’s just what I’m a-doing,” he replied. “Are you?” “Are we what?” interposed Tom. “Are you trying to be a county paper?” snorted Atwell. “Yes,” replied Helen, “we are. This section of the county doesn’t have an official weekly and the people here want one.” “You’re trying to rob me of my bread and butter for your own selfish ends,” stormed the visitor. “We’re not trying to rob anybody,” replied Tom. “Get this straight. We’ve as much if not more right to be a county weekly than you have. All we have to say is be sure your records are correct when the supervisors meet in December. Now get out of here!” Atwell rose slowly, his heavy features suffused with anger and his hands shaking. “I serve notice on you,” he stormed, “that you’ll never win out.” He stomped from the room, slamming the front door as he went. Mrs. Blair looked at Tom and Helen. “Don’t you think you were a little short with him?” she asked. “Perhaps,” admitted Helen, “but he can’t tell us what to do.” “In that,” smiled her mother, “you take after your father.” They refused to let the warning from the editor of the Auburn paper dim their hopes or retard their efforts. Circulation mounted steadily until by mid-November it had reached an even 1,400. Tom continued his weekly trips to Gladbrook to get the county farm news and to solicit advertising. From one of these trips he returned jubilant. “I’ve been talking with the supervisors,” he said, “and they’re all in favor of naming the Herald the third official paper instead of the Advocate. One of them suggested that we get an auditor from Cranston to go over our circulation list and officially audit it and then have him with us when we appear before the board.” “But wouldn’t that cost a lot of money?” “Probably $50 but having an audited list will practically insure us of getting the county work. Also, I’m going to take our subscription records and list over to the bank and keep them there until we need them every Thursday.” “Why, what’s the matter, Tom?” “I heard some talk in the courthouse that Atwell had been boasting he’d get even with us and I’m not going to take any chances with the records.” With characteristic determination Tom made the transfer that afternoon and it was only mid-evening of the same day when the fire siren sounded its alarm. All of the Blairs hurried outside where, from the front porch of their home, they could look down main street. “The truck is stopping in front of the Herald office!” gasped Helen. Without a word Tom plunged down the hill, running full speed for the office. Helen and her mother followed as quickly as possible. Main street rapidly filled with excited townspeople and they caught the odor of burning wood as they neared the Herald building. Margaret Stevens ran up to them. “It doesn’t look bad,” she tried to reassure them, “and the firemen have it under control.” Helen was so weak from the shock of the fire that she clung to Margaret and her mother for support. Her head reeled as picture thoughts raced through her mind. The threats of Burr Atwell, all of their months of hard work, the expense of the fire, their father’s need for money, Tom’s precautions in moving the circulation list. Then it was over. The firemen dragged their line of hose from the chemical tank back to the street and they crowded into the smoke-filled rooms. The fire had started near the back door but thanks to the night watchman had been detected before it had gained headway. The week’s supply of print paper was ruined and the two rooms blackened by smoke and splattered with the chemical used to check the flames, but the press and Linotype were undamaged. Tom wanted to stay and clean up the office but Mrs. Blair insisted that they all return home, herself instructing the night watchman to hire several town laborers to work the rest of the night cleaning up the office. “That fire was deliberately set,” raged Tom as they walked home. “The fire chief saved the greasy rags he found in the corner of the composing room where it started. Ten more minutes without discovery and we wouldn’t have had a newspaper.” “Who could have done such a thing?” protested his mother. “Burr Atwell,” declared Tom. “The editorial office had been ransacked for the circulation records. It’s a good thing I moved them this afternoon.” “Can we prove Atwell had a hand in this?” “I don’t suppose so,” admitted Tom, “but we’ll run a story in this week’s issue that will scare him. We’ll say the fire chief is investigating and may ask for state secret service men to help him run down the fire bug who started it. That ought to give Atwell a queer feeling.” They telephoned for another supply of print paper for the week’s issue and the next morning were back at the office. The men who had worked through the night had done a good job of cleaning and there was little evidence of fire other than the charred casings of the back door and smudgy condition of the walls and ceiling. Thanksgiving was brightened by word from their father that he would be able to return home in the spring but despite that it was a sad day in the Blair home for there was none to fill his chair at the head of the table. “Christmas,” thought Helen, “is going to be terribly lonesome for mother with Dad so far away,” and the more she thought about it the more determined she became. Without saying anything to Tom or her mother, she made several guarded inquiries at the station and elicited the desired information. The days before the annual meeting of the supervisors passed rapidly. The ground whitened under the first snow of the year and the auditor for whom Tom had arranged in Cranston arrived to audit their circulation list officially. For a week before his arrival Tom and Helen concentrated every effort on their circulation with the result that when the audit was completed the Herald could boast of 1,411 paid up subscriptions. “You’ve done a remarkably fine piece of work,” Curtis Adams, the auditor, told Helen, “and I’m sure you young folks deserve the county work.” The supervisors met on Thursday, December 15th, and in order to attend the meeting Tom and Helen worked most of Wednesday night getting the final pages of the Herald on the press, assembling and folding the papers. It was three o’clock in the morning when they reached home and their mother, who had been sleeping on a davenport awaiting their return, prepared a hot lunch and then sent them to bed. At nine o’clock Tom teased their venerable flivver into motion and with their records and the auditor in the back seat, they started for Gladbrook. It was well after ten o’clock when they reached the courthouse and they went directly to the supervisors’ rooms where a clerk asked them to wait. Half an hour later they were called and Helen went into the board room with mixed emotions throbbing through her mind. What would be the answer to their months of work? Would they get the county work which meant so much or would Burr Atwell succeed in defeating them? Her arms ached from the heavy task of folding the papers the night before and she was so nervous she was on the verge of tears. If they won they would be able to buy a folder for the press and she wouldn’t have to fold any more papers. That thought alone gave her new courage and she smiled bravely at Tom as he stepped forward and told the supervisors why he believed the Herald should be the third county paper. Then Mr. Adams, the auditor, presented his sworn statement of the circulation of the Herald and in conclusion, he added: “I have never seen a sounder or better circulation than these young people have built up. They have made no special offers nor have they reduced rates. People who take the Herald do so because it is one of the best weekly papers I have ever seen.” The chairman of the board of supervisors looked expectantly around the room. “The Gladbrook papers, the News and the Times, have made their application and the Herald has just been heard,” he explained. “I expected Mr. Atwell of the Auburn Advocate would be here.” The board waited for fifteen minutes. Then there was a whispered conference between members and the chairman stood up. “The selection of official papers has been made,” he announced. “The Gladbrook News, the Gladbrook Times and the Rolfe Herald will be known as the official papers for the ensuing year. The meeting is adjourned until afternoon.” The editors of the Gladbrook papers offered Tom and Helen their congratulations and expressed willingness to cooperate in every way. When they were alone Tom looked at Helen through eyes that were dim. “We won,” he said huskily, “and it’s all due to your hard work on circulation.” Helen’s eyes were just as misty as she smiled back. “No,” she replied, “it was your hunch in putting the records in the bank. We’d have been ruined if you hadn’t. I’m wondering why Mr. Atwell didn’t appear.” “I have a hunch he was afraid we had connected him with the fire,” said Tom. “Now let’s phone mother and then send a wire to Dad.” That afternoon Tom completed the arrangements to publish the official proceedings of the county supervisors and increased the amount of job printing he was to get from the courthouse. He also hired a middle-aged printer who agreed to come to Rolfe and work for $18 a week. “But isn’t that a little extravagant?” asked Helen. “We must have help now,” explained Tom, “and with the county printing safely tucked away we can afford it. Also, I bought a second-hand folder from the Times here. It only cost me $50 and you’ll never have to fold papers again.” “Oh, I’m so happy,” exclaimed Helen, “for I did hate to fold them. There were so many along toward the end.” On the way home that afternoon they made further plans and checked up on their funds in the bank. “We’ve got a little over $900 right now,” said Tom, “and that’s deducting all of my extravagances of an auditor and buying the second-hand folder. Our bills are all paid and we’re having a record December in advertising. I’d say we were sitting pretty.” “I was thinking about Christmas,” said Helen. “It’s going to be mighty lonesome without Dad,” admitted Tom. “Mother will miss him especially. They’ve never been away from each other at the holidays before.” Something in Helen’s voice caught Tom’s attention and he glanced at her sharply. “Say, what the dickens are you driving at?” he asked. “Give me a check for $200 and I’ll show you,” replied Helen. “It will mean the happiest Christmas we’ve ever had.” “I’ll do it and no questions asked until you’re ready to tell me,” agreed Tom and when they reached Rolfe he went to the office and signed a check for $200 payable to Helen Blair. The following Thursday fell on the 22nd of December and there was so much advertising they had to run two sections of the Herald. The printer they had hired in Gladbrook was slow but thorough and they got the paper to press on time. With the folder installed, Helen was spared the arduous duties of folding all of the papers and she devoted her time to running the mailing machine. “Spent that $200 yet?” asked Tom as they walked home through the brisk December evening, snow crunching underfoot. “All gone,” smiled Helen, “and the big surprise is here in my pocket. Wait until we get home and I tell mother about it.” “Guess I’ll have to,” grinned Tom. They found their mother in the kitchen busy with the evening meal. “Mother, we’ve got a Christmas surprise for you,” said Helen. “Come in the living room.” Mrs. Blair looked up quickly. “That’s thoughtful of you,” she said, “but I hope you didn’t spend too much money.” Wiping her hands on her apron, she preceded them into the living room. “Where is it?” she asked. “Over there on the library table,” replied Helen, pointing to an envelope tied with a band of red ribbon with a sprig of holly on top. Mrs. Blair picked up the envelope, untied the ribbon and looked inside. She pulled out two objects. One was a long, green strip of paper with many perforations and much printing. The other was a small black book similar to a check book. She held the long slip with hands that trembled as she read it. “It’s a round trip ticket to Rubio, Arizona!” she gasped, “Oh, Helen! Tom! How kind of you. Father and I will have Christmas together! And here’s a book of traveler’s checks and Pullman reservations. I’m to leave tomorrow.” Tom gave Helen a hearty hug. “So that’s where the $200 went,” he whispered. “Are you sure it’s enough?” “Plenty,” she replied. Mrs. Blair sat down in her favorite chair, the ticket and check book in her hands, her eyes dim with tears. “But I can’t go away and leave you two here alone during holidays,” she said. “Oh yes you can, Mother,” said Tom. “We’ll be happy just knowing that you and Dad are together and you can tell him all about us and then, when you come back, you can tell us all about him.” “You must go, Mother,” insisted Helen. “I’ve let Dad in on the surprise and we can’t disappoint him now.” Doctor Stevens drove them to the junction where Mrs. Blair was to board the Southwestern limited. Snow was falling steadily, one of those dry, sifting snows that presage a white Christmas in the middle west. The limited poked its dark nose through the storm and drew its string of Pullmans up to the bleak platform. It paused for only a minute and the goodbyes were hasty. The limited whirled away into the storm and Tom and Helen, standing alone on the platform, watched it disappear in the snow. It would be a quiet Christmas for them but they were supremely happy knowing that their father was on the road to health and that they had made a success of the Herald. THE END The Merriweather girls, Bet, Shirley, Joy and Kit are four fun-loving chums, who think up something exciting to do every minute. The romantic old Merriweather Manor is where their most thrilling adventures occur. The author has given us four exceptional titles in this series—absorbing mysteries and their solutions, school life, horseback riding, tennis and adventures during their school vacations.
CAMPFIRE GIRLS SERIES |
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