Editors of the old order had ridiculed the idea
of her being of any use to them, when two years previously she had, by
combination of cheek and patience, forced herself into their sanctum; had
patted her paternally upon her generally ungloved hand, and told her to
go back home and get some honest, worthy young man to love and cherish
her.
It was Carleton of the _Daily Dispatch_ group who had first divined her
possibilities. With a swift glance on his way through, he had picked her
out from a line of depressed-looking men and women ranged against the
wall of the dark entrance passage; and with a snap of his fingers had
beckoned to her to follow him. Striding in front of her up to his room,
he had pointed to a chair and had left her sitting there for
three-quarters of an hour, while he held discussion with a stream of
subordinates, managers and editors of departments, who entered and
departed one after another, evidently in pre-arranged order. All of them
spoke rapidly, without ever digressing by a single word from the point,
giving her the impression of their speeches having been rehearsed
beforehand.
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