Iron County register. [volume] (Ironton, Iron County, Mo.) 1867-1965, 1903-01-15
An Anonymous Letter.
By S. Rhett Roman.

TT was getting on toward five
/ o'clock. The work had been spe-
cially trying all that day because of
interruption and a rush of outside
matters, and on account of the extra,
which had to be gotten out concern
ing the strike.
To the credit of the management,
this extra had been rushed through
che press, and was on the street eX-
actly 30 minutes after the last con-
ference, everything having been pre-
pared to o STRIKES Off," or
''Strike to Be Continued" according
to the circumstances.
The Evening Chronicle was a pro-
gressive, clever sheet, and the editor
knew a good thing when he saw it.
1t had only taken him five minutes
to make up his mind as to the tall,
handsome young oma who applied
for work on his paper.
Betty Stanford, society editor,
looked flushed and tired, as she
leaned back in the big office chair
she was occupying in her own special
den, and she felt distinctly jaded and
equally Respondent, although she
would not admit it even to herself.
Her six months of routine work
on the Chronicle, to which had been
applied any amount of energy and
brains, had had the effect of delight
ing and astounding the editor, Tom
Dickerson, and of giving her a week
ly amount which kept starvation
from the doors of her rooms, her
present abode, with a few extras
thrown in.
These rooms were located in the
third story of a spacious old house
which had seen better days, but was
now run by Mrs. Beesley as a select
boarding house. f..
Betty's rooms had big dormer win
dows, overlooking a beautiful view
of the river, the crowded and busy
harbor, and a picturesque tangle of
shipping of all description strung
along the river front.
These dormer windows were filled
with plants, and Betty's bedroom
and small sitting room were so lux
uriously furnished, considering her
weekly salary, that Mary Crawford,
who did reporting very cleverly for
the Chronicle, and was a shrewd and
big-hearted girl, and the only person
thus far admitted across the thres-
hold of Betty's door, was openly
amazed when first ushered in that
sanctum for f~ive-o'clock tea, one cold,
bleak, drizzly afternoon.
Mary Crawford opened her eyes at
the sight of the heavy monogramed
silver IN the dressing table, the
books and pictures, the draperies and
easy chairs scattered around, and
other evidences of many more dol
lars than the Chronicle was in the
habit of paying to it's numerous en-
ployes.
The small parlor had an open fire.
place, where a cheerful blaze was
reflected back rudely in polished
brass andirons, and there were cut
flowers and vases.
Mary said nothing, but looked
with admiring envy, when Betty
slipped into an embroidered kimona
and slippers, whose beauty took her
breath away, and started to make
tea.
To-day Betty, sitting in her Office,
thought life as gray and dull as the
weather outside, which had drifted
into a steady, determined winter
rain.
you'll find a lot of ideas in here,
Miss Stanford" a young man said,
coming in briskly and putting a roll
of exchanges on Betty's big desk.
He was assistant editor, and had
laid down arms before Betty's
changeable gray eyes, two weeks af-
ter she had interviewed the editor,
and been occupied to look after the
woman's page and read proof, and
clip reprint when necessary.
Say, Miss Stanford, you're doing
first rate. I heard the boss say you
are the best proofreader he we had.
He says you have the stuff in you to
make a first class newspaper wo-
man." Dick Turner said confidential
ly, leaning forward on the desk, a
wondering admiration being visible
for the s%ingularly handsome girl,
whose strange, unconscious grace
seemed to belong to some other
place, and not a stuffy room in the
Chronicles building.
Thanking him with a smile, which
was intended to be bright, but which
Dick thought pathetic, and refusing
umbrella, his escort, or a cab,
Betty unrolled the New York and Chi
cago Sunday papers and mechanical
ly glanced over them, having ascer-
tanned by a look through the window
thai she could not venture forth just
vet.
How provoking" Betty MUIR
INJURED, referring to her umbrella left
in the corner Of her tiny parlor, and
to the heavy winter rain outside. J