" Then he
told a typical story, the story of a little girl he knew, who worked in
a department store for three dollars and a half a week, and whose
drunken father took over the last cent of that every Saturday night.
This girl's name was Eva Bernheimer, and she was sixteen years old and
"in trouble."
"You know what, Doc?" Buck ended. "You'd ought to take it up in the
_Post_--that's what. There's a fine piece to be written, showin' up them
little hunters."
It was characteristic of Doctor Queed that such an idea had not and
would not have occurred to him: applying his new science of editorial
writing to a practical problem dipped from the stream of everyday life
was still rather beyond him. But it was also characteristic of him that,
once the idea had been suggested to him, he instantly perceived its
value. He looked at Buck admiringly through the iron bars.
"You are quite right. There is."
"You know they are trying to get up a reformatory--girls' home, some
call it. That's all right, if you can't do better, but it don't get to
the bottom of it. The right way with a thing like this is to _take it
before it happens!_"
"You are quite right, Buck.
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