The Heart Remembers by Peggy Gaddis Page B

strictly speaking, nobody hired me, Miss Kimbrough,” he admitted, smiling hopefully. “I heard in Atlanta that the
Journal
was going to be revived, and since I’m fond of this part of the country, and being out of employment, I decided to take a chance that the somewhat misguided lady who had acquired said
Journal
might not yet have found herself a printer. So I blew in and went to work—hopefully. But say the word and I’ll blow out—with no hard feelings.”
    He presented her a worn wallet, in which she found the credentials that attested to his training and his standing with the union.
    â€œI’m afraid the wages won’t be much, not right at first,” she warned him.
    â€œMy needs are few and modest,” he assured her, and some of his light humor faded. “There’s a smallshed-room at the back there. Sort of stockroom, I suppose, but there’s an Army cot there. I’ll pick up a ten-cent-store mirror in which I can see to shave my whiskers, and I’ll need only a bit over for food—and—one more thing.”
    He hesitated a moment, and now every trace of humor was gone from his eyes, and he looked older, thinner, almost bitter.
    â€œOf course, that one other thing requires explanation,” he went on grimly. “You may as well know in the very beginning, Miss Kimbrough, that I’m a confirmed alcoholic. It’s a sort of occupational disease suffered by most tramp-printers of my sort. To put it plainly, once the paper has been ‘put to bed’ for the weekly issue, and my responsibility until next press-day has ended, I ask the single pleasure of steeping myself in strong drink. Brutally, to get stinkin’ drunk and stay that way until I am needed again.”
    Shelley’s eyes were wide and she could only say, “Oh!”
    The man nodded and ran his fingers through his thinning hair.
    â€œQuite,” he agreed politely. “If you prefer not to have such a one as I on your pay-roll, you have only to say the word. But I
would
like to assure you, on my word of—I could scarcely say honor, could I?”
    â€œWhy not?”
    His eyes widened and his brows went up a little.
    â€œThank you,” he said quietly, with a little bow. “Then I shall say it. On my word of honor, I shall never let you down. I shall be sober, industrious, a busy little beaver until after the paper goes to press on Wednesday and is ready for Thursday’s distribution; I shall be as sober as the proverbial judge.”
    â€œI’d hope to pick up some job-printing work to help with the expenses,” Shelley pointed out quietly.
    Philip Foster grinned at her.
    â€œThen you
are
an incurable little optimist, aren’tyou?”
    â€œI suppose I am.”
    Once more Philip Foster studied her curiously and hesitated.
    â€œSince I’m not yet officially on the pay-roll—indeed, may well never be!—I suppose I may risk being presumptuous enough to ask you a frank question; which is—why in blazes you ever thought of starting a newspaper in this place, of all others in the wide world?”
    Shelley colored but met his eyes straightly.
    â€œBecause I’ve always wanted a country weekly, and I haven’t money enough to buy a big, already established one, and I haven’t had much experience in running a paper and
I
thought it would be wise to start small and hope to build big.”
    â€œAnd the other, the
real
reason, of course, is none of my business so let’s forget I asked you,” Philip finished for her pleasantly. “Right. Now, shall I continue to shove this mound of dust and debris around until I lose it? Or have I lost a job before I got it?”
    Shelley laughed warmly.
    â€œBy all means let’s lose the trash; I’m very glad to have you here.”
    â€œThanks,” said Philip quietly, the deep sincerity of his voice adding emphasis to the word, as he fell to again on the