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Updated: May 3, 2025
And of Mary Fortune, the typist, as he had known her at first but now she was sending letters like this: "DEAR SIR: You are hereby notified that the regular Annual Meeting of the Stockholders of the Tecolote Mining Company will be held at the offices of the Company, in the Tecolote Hotel," etc., etc. Rimrock threw down the letter and cursed himself heartily for a fool, a chump and a blackguard.
She would have liked to tell him that she was well able to take care of herself, but she recalled her promise not to bother him further. She sighed, buttoning her glove. "It's a pity," she said unhappily, "because I really am a good typist." "I am sure of it," he agreed. "I infinitely regret, but sa y est!" She raised her head. "Well, thank you for telling me, at any rate," she said.
In such happy, healthful activities did Mr Nutt disport himself, until the ensuing Saturday found him at the same desk, dictating to the same typist, and using the same blue pencil on the first instalment of Mr Finn's revelations. The opening was a sound piece of slashing invective about the evil secrets of princes, and despair in the high places of the earth.
At the office of the newspaper where she filled the post of secretary and typist, she was a sort of cheerful institution to smooth worried faces and call up a smile amidst the irritability and frowns. Blunderers went to her with their troubles, and felt fairly secure if she would break the news of the blunder or mistake to the irritable and awe-inspiring chief.
Quick, accurate, and possessed of a capital memory, she would seem to be the ideal typist for an office such as that presided over by Owen Rose; and after perusing the certificates and other documents forming what one might call her dossier, Owen had really no choice but to engage the prodigy. When she received the letter announcing the fact Miss Gibbs danced with delight. "Two pounds a week!
He gave it up; but there was a way of knowing he could call out that smile again. The idle women of the Gunsight Hotel, sitting in their rockers on the upper porch, were rewarded on that day for many a wasted hour. For long months they had watched McBain's typist, with her proud way of ignoring them all; and at last they had something to talk about.
He informed me that there wasn't sufficient business to keep his present staff of salesmen busy, so then I told him I'd take anything, from stenographer up. I'm the champion one-handed typist of the United States Army. I can tally lumber and bill it. I can keep books and answer the telephone." "No encouragement, eh?" "No, sir."
The housemaid from Hammersmith and the typist from Tottenham have to come to their beaux in billets, and as most of the men in our town are single, and nearly all have sweethearts, it is estimated that five or six thousand maidens blush to hear the old, old story within the two-mile limit every week-end.
The price offered was ridiculously low, even for this season of low figures due to the fact that many overstocked ranches were throwing their beef-cattle and range horses on the market. So low, in fact, that Judith's first surmise when Hampton brought it to her was that the typist taking the company's dictation had made an error. Judith tossed the note into the waste-basket.
She had to prod herself into fresh briskness with the sense of her need, that to-day was the end. She sighed, jerked her chin up, set her small face into the shape of resolute cheerfulness and started forth again in the direction of the second vacancy for a typist. Here, for a while, hope burned high. The office was that of a firm of thriving wine exporters and the post had not yet been filled.
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