Mrs. Ogilvie's Local Color
and of the quiet devotion with which she bore her share of the struggle for a livelihood.
"Look at her now," continued Herforth, his eyes resting on the slight figure by Miss Herrick's side. "Marbury has given her a Sunday special to do—that case of the old woman whose husband has just died and who's going to the almshouse Friday. It ought to be a great story—but she 'll spoil it. It won't be half so melancholy as our own comic supplement," he ended gloomily.
The unconscious object of his criticism was listening with much deference to some quiet suggestions by Miss Herrick as to the special story he had mentioned. "Try to put yourself in the old woman's place," the experienced newspaper woman ended. "Try to realize what it must be to her to face the world alone at eighty-five, with husband, home, children, friends all gone. Put some feeling into your work, my dear. Don't worry about the local color.
Mrs. Ogilvie took these final words out of the office with her and thought them over as she rode uptown in the Broadway car.
"It is n't that I lack sympathy," she mused,
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