Jonas Pincheon had his doubts about the young copy girl he had hired a month ago. She had represented herself as a graduate of Smith College with a degree in literature and journalism. Oh he had hired her on a lark and just to put the growing suffragette and progressive movement on their ear. Just the thought of the conservative Springfield Herald being the first major newspaper to employ a woman in any capacity, and especially one who was a graduate of that eeliest feminine institution Smith College would take the wind out of their sails and put them in the distasteful position of having to praise his progressiveness, and now to learn she was a fraud. Well he would soon put her in her place.
"Mr. Fish!"
Pinchoen's voice boomed across the boisterous chatter of the news room as he called for his personal assistant. The young man, in his mid twenties, came running on the double. He had learned long sense that it did not pay to keep The Boss waiting, not if you valued your job.
"Fish tell Miss Carlton I want to see her in my Office on the third floor in ten minutes. Tell her if she takes eleven minutes that she well be seeking employment somewhere else. If she desires to continue work for the Springfield Herald she will not be late."
Michael Fish turned on his heel and headed out on the run for the news room hollering at the top of his lungs,
"Miss Carlton, Miss Carlton..."
Five minutes of the hapless girl's ten minutes had already slipped away when Fish finally located her in the papers achieves.
"The Boss......(ha...ha)... wants to see.....(ha....ha).... you in the citadel......(ha....ha..) in ...."
Fish consulted his pocket watch;
"....in five minutes Miss Carlton."
Michael Fish was bent over at the waist his hands on his knees as he fought to catch his breath.
"The Boss is really on the war Talia never saw him so mad."
Everyone who worked for the Springfield Herald knew that to be summoned to the citadel by the Boss bode ill for the recipient of the summons.
Jonas Pincheon pocket watch was open and in the palm of his hand as he watched the minutes tick by. The second hand had just marked minute nine's passing when he heard the soft knock on his door
"Enter Miss Carlton"
There was no emotion in his deep dark voice. He held the young girl in the unblinking gaze of his cold hazel eyes.
"Smith College......Literature........and .........Journalism"
Each word was slowly spoken, and clearly enunciated. Each word spoken as an accusation rather than a matter of fact.
"Can you give me one reason why I should not fire you on the spot Miss Carlton, for up to this point you have shown yourself to be a liar and a fraud!"
Jonas Pincheon had left Talia standing before the massive mahogany desk, everything about the office was designed to make the hapless victim feel small insignificant and there was never a chair for the condemned to sit in. Before Talia could answer Mr. Fish burst into the room. The fear in the young man's eyes for having violated the citadel without being called for was obvious in his shifting eyes and the nervous tremor in his voice as he spoke.
"Mr. Douglas is missing Sir...... the news just came in over the ticker tape."
"Damn!"
Pincheon ran his fingers through his ginger hair, the little auburn haired girl forgotten for the moment. Jack Douglas was the Herald's Foreign Correspondent that was covering the Russo Japanese War in far off China.
"Fish call Bowles Field and have them prepare my airship. Now get the hell out of here!"
Then Jonas once more turned his undivided attention to the little blue eyed waif in the frumpy dark grey.
"And you Miss Carlton what do you have to say for yourself?"
Jonas Pincheon wondered what else, beside her factious past, the blue eyed girl with the angelic face might be hiding under that drab ill fitting dress she wore.
"Well!"
he barked at her.
Sir, I . . ."
The young girl stammered.
Ah the sweet smell of fear. It filled Jonas Pinchoen's nostrils as the little blue eyed waif with the angelic face fidgeted with her dainty hands clasped behind her back. It was that simple act to hid her trembling hands that gave Jonas Pincheon the first hint that this young auburn haired girl might be more than she first appeared as her firm young breast were thrust up and out to straining against the bodice of her lack luster dress. He loved the panic he saw in those stunning blue eyes, the little squeak in her voice as she tried to answer his accusations. When Talia did find her voice, the words came out in a flooding rush.
"Sir,"
She began again in a strong clear voice as she met his eyes.
"It is true. I did not actually graduate from Smith. But I did attend all the classes that would have allowed me to receive a degree for a double-major in Literature and Journalism. Sir, let me finish, please. I did matriculate at Smith and attended officially for one year. But,......."
The words bubbled from her moist ripe lips like a rushing babbling brook. Pincheon watched as Talia fought for her dream with the only weapons she had, her words and her passion to follow her dream.
" Sir, let me finish, please. I did matriculate at Smith and attended officially for one year. But my dear father passed away and there was no money for me to continue. I found work as a menial, but while it enabled me to feed my body, it did nothing to feed my mind. I continued to audit classes and some of my professors were so kind as to let me sit the exams and even graded them and my papers. I assure you, had I been an actual student, I would have graduated in the top one percent. Perhaps even Vale Victorian."
Jonas Pincheon watched how the girl's passion drew her across the room till her hands, no longer behind her back, were braced on the edge of his desk. Her stunning Azure blue eyes on fire with her passion, her desire to be a reporter.
"When I saw your ad in the Herald, I jumped at the chance to put my education to good use. If you speak to the writers and my supervisor, they will tell you my work ethic is exemplary. I have even helped with proofing when there has been a crunch to get the paper to press. Sir, please, I need this job.
