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Updated: June 22, 2025
Harwood." Fitch pointed to a huge pile of manuscript on a table by the window. It was a stenographic transcript of testimony in a case which had been lost in the trial court and was now going up on appeal. "Digest that evidence and give me the gist of it in not more than five hundred words. That's all." Harwood's hand was on the door when Fitch arrested him with a word.
Bok had been attracted to advertising through his theatre programme and Brooklyn Magazine experience, and here was presented a chance to learn the art at first hand and according to the best traditions. So, whenever his stenographic work permitted, he assisted Mr. Doubleday in preparing and placing the advertisements of the books of the house. Mr.
Betty Jo had been doing a number of things: Helping Auntie Sue with her housework; learning to cook; keeping up her stenographic work; reading. "Reading?" That reminded him, and forthwith Mr. Ward went to his room, and returned with the book.
His private papers, the stenographic reports, and all memoranda were tied up together and carried aboard. Then, to my surprise, two weeks' concentrated rations for two and mineral water sufficient for the same period were stowed away aboard the launch. Several times he asked me whether I knew how to run the boat, and I assured him that I did.
Of course that's impossible, isn't it?" "Well, it was a few years ago, but we can do wonders nowadays. There's the little dictagraph. We could string one up for you and give you the usual stenographic report or you could go and listen in yourself." "Could I really?" Charity gasped, and she began to shiver with the frightfulness of the opportunity. "Surest thing you know," said Hodshon.
He was to receive a salary of eighteen dollars and thirty-three cents per week, which was then considered a fair wage for stenographic work. The typewriter had at that time not come into use, and all letters were written in long-hand. Once more his legible handwriting had secured for him a position. Edward Bok was now twenty-one years of age.
"May not this interview at least be sacred from the presence of your keepers?" "Poor dear soul, she is happily oblivious, and will take no stenographic notes. I would as soon declare war against my own shadow as order her away." Evidently chagrined, the visitor stood irresolute, and meanwhile the gaze of his companion wandered back to the beauty of the Bay.
M. Hippolyte Prévost was chief of the stenographic staff, and in that capacity had apartments in the Legislative Palace. He was at the same time editor of the musical feuilleton of the Moniteur. On the 1st December he had gone to the Opéra Comique for the first representation of a new piece, and did not return till after midnight.
"But, dear, if you and I were written up, just as we are, we'd be called two idiots." "Would we?" her head was caressing his coat. "Have you ever thought how a stenographic or phonographic report of some of our conversations would sound?" "Beautiful," she murmured. "Crazy!" he insisted. "Perhaps the world didn't mean people to be so happy as we are," her words stumbled drowsily.
He asked her secretary if he had heard aright when the telegram was dictated to him; the secretary said he had, and took the filed copy of it and verified its authenticity by comparing it with the stenographic notes. Mrs. Eddy did make the correction, two months later, in her official organ.
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