The Pulaskian., 1917-02-16
KILLING THE LOVE STUFF ];
By OLIVE ROBERTS BARTON.


week she had read and sorted and blue-penciled and dictated amidst the roaring of 50 typewriters and the shrilling of the telephones. A fiction editor under such circumstances is likely to get stalled on romance.
 'sLove, love, love, it's always love-" she declared with disgust. q get so sick of this everlasting stuff I think I'll scream if someone isn't murdered soon or the hero doesn't die before his time. But have to throw them out if they're not dripping with love for that's what the public demands.
 No one heard these sentiments for the roaring and shrilling went on un- ceasingly, drowning almost every other i sound. Even Brilles, the hard-hearted managing editor on the other side of the big room was adding to the pande- monium by forcibly calling down cub for missing a big thing he was sent to cover the night before
 T think" she unused, as she put on i her hat and jacket and hooked up her furs, "that I can't accept any more stories from Treador Vane. The slush is getting so thick I can't wade through. Sometime I'll put it up to Brilles. He's about as romantic and unbendable as plate-glass window, l but not" she glanced over at him quiz zically, "so transparent. A regular sphinx, should say" l She reached the street, narrow canyon between the high cliffs of build- ings. She was greatly surprised that the cold, drizzling rain that was falling at noon had stopped and that the thermometer had not only fallen 25 degrees, but that a wind, biting and strong was tearing down the street and freezing everything as it went. Pedestrians were groping their way along, keeping close to the wall for safety, but it was hazardous business.
 Sylvia watched a moment from the haven of the vestibule. She had three squares to go for her car. Then she had happy thought. Up in the locker room she had a pair of skates. When she went through the big room Brilles was still at his desk Brilles, the f1intlike, the heartless, the much-to-be-feared.
 Sylvia stopped beside him. He turned in his swivel chair and regard ed her silently, running his eyes over her slim, girlish figure in it's brown jersey suit, soft furs and little hat under which her face glowed like rose.
 "What is it?' he asked quite gently.
 q want to ask you if you don't think we're running too much sentiment in the story column. I've been keeping everything with love in it, and return ing hundreds of ripping good stories just because the hero forgot to kiss his girl or the parson refused to marry the old maid. I thought I'd ask your opin- ion. How would it do to run in an occasional good one on another theme? All this love stuff is just dream.''
 "Is it?"
 'FYes-you know it as we'll as I do. But the public is queer. They're crazy about one Treador Vane. I per sonally wouldn't give his truck room in the ash barrel"
 Brilles tapped his desk a minute thoughtfully. Look here, Miss Hun ter, you're here to run that column, so do as you please about it. I've read that Vane stuff myself and I'm sure agree with you. You're right about the love business, too. Even the girls nowadays don't know what 1t means. Business or something has taken all the romance out of them. You're a good example yourself" l Sylvia started and remembered her own summing up of the managing edi- 1 tor. Certainly the verdict was mutual.
 'It's bad night and I'm getting my skates she said as she left. ''I'm go- ing to skate to the car on the pave ment."
 But as she glided over the slippery street she decided not to take the car.
 Crossing a street, Sylvia collided with man. They went down togeth- CT in heap.
 Miss HunterP' cried he springing up.
 'eMr. Brilles," exclaimed Sylvia.
 Are you hurt?"
 s'Not a bit"
 But when Sylvia got to her feet with his help she turned pale. q be- lieve I've twisted my foot" she said.
 "Oh, that's too bad Can you bear your weight on it at all?"
 "Yes, if I don't move it."
 "Then I'll tow you home. How far is it?'
 About four squares"
 When they reached her door she in- sisted that he come in. You haven't had dinner, have you?" she asked.
 "No,' he admitted.
 "Then you must share ours," she in- sisted.
 So Brilles, the fiinted-hearted, stayed and spent the evening. The next morning the pretty editor laid a | H. -f~ ...