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Updated: June 22, 2025
"N-n-not long," answered Truax, quite truthfully. "Take this thermometer under your tongue!" Sam Truax meekly submitted, then sat, perfectly still, while Doctor McCrea paced the brig for two full minutes. Then the "sawbones" took the thermometer from between Truax's lips and inspected it keenly. "Hospital man!" rapped out Doctor McCrea, sharply.
Responsibility gave her more poise and willingness to take initiative. Her salary was raised to thirty dollars a week. She banked two hundred dollars of commissions, and bought a Japanese-blue silk negligée, a wrist-watch, and the gown of black satin and net recommended by Miss Joline. Yet officially she was still Mr. Truax's secretary; she took his dictation and his moods.
He gladly responded to the call for help. For four hours he toiled along in the "Pollard's" engine room. Much of that time he spent there alone. The job done, at last, Truax quietly received the thanks of the naval machinists and went ashore again. Yet, as he turned and walked toward the main gate of the grounds, there was a smile on Sam Truax's face that was little short of diabolical.
She was going to be very careful. She would inspect a dozen different orphan-asylums. Meanwhile her second secret was making life pregnant with interest: She was going to change her job again for the last time she hoped. She was going to be a creator, a real manager, unhampered by Mr. Truax's unwillingness to accept women as independent workers and by the growing animosity of Mrs. Truax. §
Una had been trained, perhaps as much by enduring Mr. Schwirtz as by pleasing Mr. S. Herbert Ross, to be firm, to say no, to keep Mr. Truax's sacred rites undisturbed. She did not conventionally murmur, "Mr. Truax is in a conference just now, and if you will tell me the nature of your business " Instead, she had surprising, delightful, convincing things for Mr.
Truax's door, swung her heels, inspected the finger-ends of her chamois gloves, and issued a command to Una to perform conversationally. Una was thinking, "I'd like to spank you and then I'd adore you. You're what story-writers call a thoroughbred."
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