A Day in our Editor's Chair.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXVIII, Issue 20922, 11 July 1931, Page 4 (Supplement)

A Day in our Editor's Chair.

By SHEILA QUINTST, 3. Tennyson Street, Mount Eden (age 17 years). .

I sat at a desk in the small office and frowned thoughtfully (what I firmly believed to be an "editorial" frown) at the wild confusion of books, papers, letters and parcels, all heaped up everywhere —all littered around in wild confusion on the desks and shelves.

This was going to be a delicious experience. For one day at least I would take Miss Morton's place; I would enter into the sacred realm of editors; I would experience tne trials, tribulations and joys that only an editor can experience; I . But here my mind positively refused to dwell on farther stupendous joys. I could only C9ntemplate with heartless joy the thoughtfulness of' Miss Morton contracting " flu," and hoped secretly and in my inmost heart that she, might remain in a happy convalescent stage for several days. * I. regarded a large bag of acid drops lying on the table pensively and with hope in my eyes. Did editors eat acid drops? I did not know, but decided to risk it. It was then a knock sounded on the door. *

" Come in," I called brightly. A man entered. I gazed at him doubtfully. He did not resemble an editor, but still—one never knew. I smiled as sweetly as the acid drop would permit. Madam," said the man, whipping a book from under his coat with lightning rapidity—" madam, here I have a dictionary that is indispensable to lady editors. It enables each and every person to spell the King's English, to " " But I can spell," I protested indignantly. " Can you spell pharmaceutical ? " he almost barked.

'-Pharmaceutical," I repeated vaguely—- " pharmaceutical " " Ha! You cannot! "he shouted triumphantly. " Half-a-crown is the- —" I paid the money without a murmur and humbly took'the dictionary. Were such visitors frequent, I wondered. I sincerely hoped they were not. The next item to attend to was the compiling of the following Saturday's " Page." I attended to this important matter in what I secretly thought a masterly fashion, after which I gave a little blissful sigh and enthusiastically com ? menced the long and arduous task of sending out mark-cards. Now, this might strike one of those unhappy people who have never yet had the opportunity, of joining tho previously-mentioned sacred ranks of editors as being a splendid task. I thought so, too. By the time twenty were done I was not so sure. When thirty were finished my enthusiasm had waned considerably, and on reaching my fortieth, cold despair was gripping me. It was at this point that I was again interrupted by a knock on the door. "Come in," I called, a trifle less brightly than previously. A man thrust his head round the door. A bundle of printed slips, still wet from tho printer's press, was thrust into my hands. . " Proofs," said the man shortly. "Proofs!" I echoed blankly. Exactly what did one do with proofs ? y Er—if you could tell me what to do?" I commenced humbly and apolo-, getically. ... , , " Correct them," said the important person in lofty disdain. I cast my eyes admiringly over the slips. Ah! What was this ? My smile turned to a set expression of frozen horror, for staring out at me was a photo of that, famous dog Rin-tin-tin enjoying a i juicy bono, and underneath were the ghastly lines " Princess Elizabeth, in one of her characteristic little poses-" I groaned. There and then I could have buried my head on tho paper-littered desk and wept. I sank to the depths of despair. It was too bad—inconsiderate—unkind of Miss Morton to get ill. I could not stay. I must ring up Miss Morton instantly—tell her I could occupy no longer the nerve-racking position of editor. And then tho office tloor opened magically, it seemed to me—and on the threshold appeared Miss Morton herself. "Miss Morion!" I murmured rapturously, and gazed as one might upon a heavenly vision. "I felt much better, so thought I might as well come along," fhat wonderfully welcome lady said crisply. - What. Not going, surely ? " • « Y es going," I announced hurriedly, one hand 011 the door-knob. " Good-bye."

" But " ' , . . Good-bye," I repeated firmly, and almost ran along the winding passages, while tho tapping typewriters, the editor s offices, those great, awe-inspiring men themselves seemed to slyly wink and laugh behind me, and jeeringly call—- " Come again." \