"Just then up come Abagail Arnold bringing the noon lunch, and she had the sandwiches and the eggs not only, but a pot of hot coffee thrown in, and a basket of doughnuts, sugared. She set them out on Mis' Sykes's desk, and we all laid down our pencils and drew up on our high stools and swing chairs, Mis' Sturgis and all, and nothing in the line of food had ever looked so welcoming. "'Oh, the eatableness of nice refreshments!' says Mis' Toplady, sighing. "'This is when it ain't victuals, its viands,' says Mis' Sykes, showing pleased. "But well do I remember, we wasn't started to eat, and Abagail still doing the pouring, when the composing room door opened--I donno _why_ they called it that, for we done the composing in the office, and they only got out the paper in there--and in come the foreman, with an apron of bed-ticking. He was Riddy Styles, that we all knew him. "'Excuse me,' he says, hesitating, 'but us fellows thought we'd ought to mention that we can't get no paper out by quittin' time if we don't get a-hold of some copy pretty quick.' "'Copy o' what?' says Mis' Sykes, our editor. "'Why, copy,' says Riddy. 'Stuff for the paper.' "Mis' Sykes looked at him, majestic. "'_Stuff_,' she says. 'You will please to speak,' she says, 'more respectfully than that to us ladies, Mr. Styles.' "'It was meant right,' says Riddy, stubborn. 'It's the word we always use.' "'It ain't the word you use, not with us,' says Mis' Sykes, womanly. "'Well,' says Riddy, 'we'd ought to get to settin' up _somethin'_ by half past twelve, if we start in on the dictionary.' "Then he went off to his dinner, and the other men with him, and Mis' Sykes leaned back limp. "'I been writin' steady,' she says, 'since half past eight o'clock this mornin', an' I've only got one page an' one-half composed.' "We ask' each other around, and none of us was no more then started, let be it was Mis' Toplady, that had got in first. "'Le's us leave our lunch,' says Mis' Sykes, then. 'Le's us leave it un-et. Abagail, you put it back in the basket an' pour the coffee into the pot. An' le's us _write_. Wouldn't we all rather hev one of our sick headaches,' she says, firm, 'than mebbe make ourselves the Laughing Stock? Ladies, I ask you.' "An' we woulded, one and all. Sick headaches don't last long, but laughed-at has regular right down eternal life. "Ain't it strange how slow the writing muscles and such is, that you don't use often? Pitting cherries, splitting squash, peeling potatoes, slicing apples, making change at church suppers,--us ladies is lightning at 'em all. But getting idees down on paper--I declare if it ain't more like waiting around for your bread to raise on a cold morning. Still when you're worried, you can press forward more than normal, and among us we had quite some material ready for Riddy and the men when they came back. But not Mis' Sykes. She wan't getting on at all.