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Updated: June 16, 2025
In a flash Blount remembered: how he had sent Collins to get the packet out of the safe, the stenographer's delay, the hasty sealing of the envelope, and the suspicion which had been cut short by the incoming of Ackerton. "I know now who did it, and when it was done," he said. "The day before the office was broken into I told Collins to bring me the papers from the safe.
Add this to that letter: 'Give condition of consignment at present." He tossed the papers on to the stenographer's desk, took his feet from his own desk and went out to lunch. When Mike Flannery received the letter he scratched his head. "Give prisint condition," he repeated thoughtfully. "Now what do thim clerks be wantin' to know, I wonder! 'Prisint condition, 'is ut? Thim pigs, praise St.
"I'm a special investigator for the Indian Bureau." Enoch chuckled again. "Right! And that title Watkins counts as worth at least five dollars a week. The remainder is the equivalent of a stenographer's salary. I know him!" "He is quite all right," said Diana quickly. "It must be extremely difficult to manage a budget. No matter how large they are, they're always too small.
Outside the office force was arriving. They were comfortably ignorant of my presence, and over the transom floated scraps of dialogue and the stenographer's gurgling laugh. McKnight had a relative, who was reading law with him, in the intervals between calling up the young women of his acquaintance. He came in singing, and the office boy joined in with the uncertainty of voice of fifteen.
Lowe was always a terror to the reporters, for he spoke at a pace which no stenographer's or phonographer's pen could follow, but it was not merely the speed of his utterance which made him so impossible.
You were not moved by a sudden passion. You tortured your victim. It is inconceivable!" "And yet true," said Kent. He was looking at the stenographer's slim fingers as they put down his words and Kedsty's. A bit of sunshine touched her bowed head, and he observed the red lights in her hair.
Bonbright was looking about the busy room, conscious that he was being covertly studied by every occupant of it. It made him uncomfortable, uneasy. "Let's go on into the shops," he said, impatiently. They turned, and encountered in the aisle a girl with a stenographer's notebook in her hand; indeed, Bonbright all but stepped on her. She was a slight, tiny thing, not thin, but small.
Pankhurst, and Lillian Russell may be a myth to them, but I'll swear that every one of them knows that Camille is a dressmaker who makes super-dresses. She is as much a household word among them as Roosevelt used to be to their men folks. At the very end, to her stenographer's mystification, she added this irrelevant line. "Seven dollars a week is not a living wage." The report went to Fenger.
Blount hung up the receiver, called it one more opportunity missed, and sat down to attack the desk litter. Almost the first thing his eye lighted upon was a stenographer's note stating that Mr. Hathaway, president of the Twin Buttes Lumber Company, had been in several times, and was very anxious to obtain an interview. Blount pressed the desk button, and the stenographer came in promptly.
He was looking past her at a girl from home, who came across the terrace carrying in her hand a stenographer's note-book. Lady Firth followed the direction of his eyes and saw the look in them. She exclaimed with dismay: "Already! Already he deserts me, even before the ink is dry on the paper." She drew the note-book from Mrs. Adair's fingers and dropped it under the tea-table.
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