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Updated: June 29, 2025
"We are a very busy firm here," he said with a certain deliberation; "we do not carry a big force of men in any one department, and each of those men has to fill his place and slop some over the sides. We do not pretend or attempt to teach here. If you want to be a lumberman, you must learn the lumber business more directly than through the windows of a bookkeeper's office. Go into the woods.
Leonard's curiosity was excited, and he would have been glad to remain, but as there was no help for it, he went out. When they were alone, Stark drew up his chair close, and laid his hand familiarly on the bookkeeper's knee. "I say, Gibbon, do you remember where we last met?" Gibbon shuddered slightly. "Yes," he answered, feebly. "It was at Joliet Joliet Penitentiary.
The demands are exacting; labor at the typewriter, the proof-sheets, or the bookkeeper's desk is tiresome, but the society of the office is congenial, working conditions are healthful and cheerful in most cases, and there are many opportunities for increasing efficiency and promotion. The office has its hardships.
Marker, looking across the table at her husband as he seated himself. "You need the rest." There was a weary stoop in the man's shoulders that told of years spent over a bookkeeper's desk, and his face was pale and worn. "Don't say that in Mary Lee's hearing," he answered. "It is the child's first real outing, and I would not have her pleasure marred by a single thought of my work or ill health."
The bookkeeper's desk was in a gallery near the ceiling of the Clinton grocery store; one looked thence, through a picket-fence, down upon the only floor. Doubtless Grace, thus looking, saw him coming. When he reached her side, he was breathless, partly from his struggle through the masses, principally from excitement of fancied security.
Worse must have made a splutter with his pen when he snatched it so hurriedly; and as the old bookkeeper's eye wandered from the smudge of ink, to the frightful confusion which reigned in the office, and back again to the smudge, he repeated, slowly and majestically, the magic words which were to awake him from this horrible nightmare: "Tell my mother it has all come right."
The bookkeeper's lips were dryer than before, and his tongue was like a stick in his mouth when he said: "You're not giving me a show, Mr. Gordon; the poor show a common murderer would have in any court of law. You are asking me to convict myself." Gordon held up the packet of papers. "Here is your conviction, Mr. Dyckman the original leaves taken from those books when you had them re-bound.
He heaved a great sigh and approached the bookkeeper's desk, where Morris had laid the morning mail. "Did you hear from those suckers out in Kansas City what made the kick about them London Smokes, Mawruss?" he asked. "Sure I did," Morris replied; "they says they decided to keep the goods." "I guess it left off raining in Kansas City," Abe commented.
At the same time, the methodical bookkeeper's habit of thought and his clear-sightedness in business were a thousand leagues from that absent-minded, flighty character, half-artist, half-inventor. He judged him by himself, having no conception of the condition of a man with the disease of invention, absorbed by a fixed idea. Such men are somnambulists.
They were going to hand out the bread. But instead of the usual white-aproned under-cook with his crowded hampers there now appeared in the doorway a new man a young fellow who looked like a bookkeeper's assistant. He bore in his hand a placard, which he tacked to the outside of the door. Then he disappeared within the bakery, locking the door after him.
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