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Updated: May 18, 2025
"You have the true record of the expense account in that package. I'm down and out; what is it you want?" The inexorable one at the desk did not keep him in suspense. "I want a written confession of just what you did, and what you did it for," was the direct reply. "You'll find Miss Ackerman's type-writer in the other room; I'll wait while you put it in type."
Daisy came with her father to hear my report, but there was nothing to tell, and we three walked slowly back to the house. "In the evenings the professor worked on his volumes, the click of his type-writer sounding faintly behind his closed door. Daisy and I played chess sometimes; sometimes we played hearts. I don't remember that we ever finished a game of either we talked too much.
Now, I wonder if that type-writer has been repaired?" The detective had seldom seen Brett so thoroughly roused. His eyes were brilliant, his nose dilated as if he could smell the very scent of the anonymous scribe. "An illiterate man," he repeated, "in evening dress; the same height and appearance as Hume; in a village like Sleagill on a New Year's Eve; four miles from everywhere.
The Minister, a little later, went to Biarritz, to collect his share. On his return he sent Caesar a note, unsigned and written on the type-writer. It read: "I did not think you had enough ability for cheating. Another time I will be more careful."
He was pleased with himself and with his fellow-men. He shook hands with Isaacs & Sons, and congratulated them upon their public spirit, and the type-writer firm upon their public spirit. And then he saw Spear standing apart regarding him doubtfully. Spear did not offer his hand, but Mr. Thorndike took it, and shook it, and said: "I want to meet your mother." And when Mrs.
The end of the veranda, where Mrs Gildea had established herself with her type-writer and paraphernalia of literary work, was screened by a thick-stemmed grape-vine, which made a dapple of shadow and sunshine upon the boarded floor.
And I told him that could not be true, but, oh, in my heart, Rachel, I have felt it was true all these long, long five years since you have lived here." Rachel came and stood beside her at the little window. There was just room for them between the type-writer and the bed. Far below, Hester's brougham was pacing up and down. "Then are love and sympathy nothing?" she said.
I was still musing there by the window, listening to the click and ringing of the type-writer, when I suddenly became aware that the clicking had ceased, and, turning, I saw the young Countess standing beside me. "Thank you for your chivalrous impulse to help me," she said, frankly, holding out her bare hand. I bent over it. "I had not realized how desperate my case was," she said, with a smile.
A thousand occupations are now open to women. You can be a type-writer, or a stenographer, or a private secretary, or saleswoman. You can keep a bakery, or do city shopping for country ladies. But whatever you do, keep these principles in mind: Do not drift into any work.
I stole past Mason, sleeping with his forehead on the type-writer keys he'll be lettered like the obelisk when he wakes up and crept into the next room to see just what Tausig keeps in that private desk of his. Oh, yes, it was locked. But hadn't I been carrying the key to it every minute for the last forty-eight hours? There must be a mine of stuff in that desk of Tausig's, Mag.
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