JOAN OF THE JOURNAL [Illustration: It was the story of the Charity Play] JOAN OF THE JOURNAL By Helen Diehl Olds ILLUSTRATED BY ROBB BEEBE GROSSET & DUNLAP Publishers New York By arrangement with D. Appleton-Century Company COPYRIGHT, 1930, BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, must not be reproduced in any form without permission of the publisher. Copyright, 1927, 1928, 1929, 1930 by the Methodist Book Concern PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA To my sons Bob and Jerry just because ... CONTENTS I. JOAN GETS A JOB II. THE JOURNAL FAMILY III. JOAN ON THE BEAT IV. “NO MORE MISTAKES” V. THE ANNUAL OUTING VI. TIM’S SECOND WARNING VII. CHUB GETS AN IDEA VIII. CHUB TAKES A HAND IX. A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE X. TOMMY-BY-THE-DAY XI. THE DAY NURSERY XII. RICH BOY, POOR BOY XIII. ERIC XIV. SACRED COW XV. JOAN MEETS ALEX XVI. THE HONOR SYSTEM XVII. TIM MAKES THE FRONT PAGE XVIII. DUMMY’S STORY XIX. THE COMMA’S TAIL ILLUSTRATIONS It was the story of the Charity Play “I’ll talk with this young woman alone,” he said “Mark ’em ‘first’ and ‘second’,” Tim shouted “Are you a deaf-mute or aren’t you?” CHAPTER I JOAN GETS A JOB “I’ll be back in a minute,” Joan called over her shoulder to Mother, as she scurried around past the lilac bushes by the kitchen windows. Oh, suppose she were too late! Tim had gone into the _Journal_ office, just as she had started doing the dishes. Joan rarely minded doing dishes, because the windows above the kitchen sink looked across at the _Journal_ office and she could watch everything that went on over there. Usually, she lingered over the dishes, just as she hustled over the bed making because the bedrooms were on the other side of the house. But to-day, she had done the dishes in less than no time, because she wanted to be nearer the scene of action than the kitchen windows. She hurried now, though it was rather undignified for a person fourteen years old to run in a public place like this. That was the trouble with living right down town. No privacy. Joan thought of the rows and rows of new homes out at the end of Market Street, and then looked back at her own little home—also on Market Street. It was a tiny, red brick house, tucked in between the _Journal_ office and the county court house, set back behind a space of smooth green lawn. It was like living in a public square. But Joan had lived there all her life and really loved the excitement of it. Uncle John, who was general manager of the paper, would probably be busy and tell Tim to wait, as though he were just anybody applying for a summer-time job and not his own nephew, Joan’s seventeen-year-old brother.