When he set down the machine in the president’s office, a ripple of eyebrows passed it by--glances too busy for comment. The clatter of the typewriters rose and hummed. The hive could not pause for a worker more or less. She slipped into her place with a little smile and nod, waiting while John shifted the telephone connection and swung a bulb, with its green shade, conveniently in place.
The little bell rang sharply and she leaned to the receiver. “Hello!”
John crossed to the young woman by the window. She had finished a sheet and was drawing it out with a quick swirl.
She ignored him, rubbing out an offending word and blowing away the black fuzz before she looked up. “What is it?” she said sharply. Her hair, which was red and crisp, glinted as she turned her head.
John’s eyes followed it with a little look of pleasure. There was something about that color that always made him happy. He did not know this and it had never occurred to him to be diplomatic. But a hint of a smile crossed the girl’s mouth.
“Well?” She was looking at him tolerantly.
He drew a sheaf of papers from his pocket. “These are to be copied--leaving blanks here, and here--Send a boy when they are done. He wants two carbons--very clear.”
“All right.” She took them from him with a look of relief. It might be an honor to take down ’the old man’s dictation, but it was an honor she could dispense with. She fluffed her fingers toward the glinting hair and descended on the keys.
John stood for a moment, looking thoughtfully at the crisping hair in the wide window-light. The girl had turned her head a little and it twinkled, but did not look up.
As he crossed the room, he glanced casually at the new occupant. Her head was bent to the receiver and a little smile played about her lips. “Yes--yes--yes?--yes.” Her fingers moved quickly and she nodded once or twice as if listening to something pleasant. “She _likes_ to work for him,” thought John, “same as I do.”
With a look of satisfaction on his round face he closed the office door behind him. He had accomplished, without a jar, what perhaps no other man in the service could have done. But he was not thinking of this--he hardly knew it. He was planning what Simeon should have for luncheon--something hot and staying....