North of Fifty-Three | Page 4

such work, she expected to continue in the same routine until she left Harrington & Bush for good.
It was, therefore, something of a surprise to be called into the office of the managing partner on Tuesday afternoon. Bush's private stenographer sat at her machine in one corner.
Mr. Bush turned from his desk at Hazel's entrance.
"Miss Weir," he said, "I wish you to take some letters."
Hazel went back for her notebook, wondering mildly why she should be called upon to shoulder a part of Nelly Morrison's work, and a trifle dubious at the prospect of facing the rapid-fire dictation Mr. Bush was said to inflict upon his stenographer now and then. She had the confidence of long practice, however, and knew that she was equal to anything in reason that he might give her.
When she was seated, Bush took up a sheaf of letters, and dictated replies. Though rapid, his enunciation was perfectly clear, and Hazel found herself getting his words with greater ease than she had expected.
"That's all, Miss Weir," he said, when he reached the last letter. "Bring those in for verification and signature as soon as you can get them done."
In the course of time she completed the letters and took them back. Bush glanced over each, and appended his signature.
"That's all, Miss Weir," he said politely. "Thank you."
And Hazel went back to her machine, wondering why she had been requested to do those letters when Nelly Morrison had nothing better to do than sit picking at her type faces with a toothpick.
She learned the significance of it the next morning, however, when the office boy told her that she was wanted by Mr. Bush. This time when she entered Nelly Morrison's place was vacant. Bush was going through his mail. He waved her to a chair.
"Just a minute," he said.
Presently he wheeled from the desk and regarded her with disconcerting frankness--as if he were appraising her, point by point, so to speak.
"My--ah--dictation to you yesterday was in the nature of a try-out, Miss Weir," he finally volunteered. "Miss Morrison has asked to be transferred to our Midland branch. Mr. Allan recommended you. You are a native of Granville, I understand?"
"Yes," Hazel answered, wondering what that had to do with the position Nelly Morrison had vacated.
"In that case you will not likely be desirous of leaving suddenly," he went on. "The work will not be hard, but I must have some one dependable and discreet, and careful to avoid errors. I think you will manage it very nicely if you--ah--have no objection to giving up the more general work of the office for this. The salary will be considerably more."
"If you consider that my work will be satisfactory," Miss Weir began.
"I don't think there's any doubt on that score. You have a good record in the office," he interrupted smilingly, and Hazel observed that he could be a very agreeable and pleasant-speaking gentleman when he chose--a manner not altogether in keeping with her former knowledge of him--and she had been with the firm nearly two years. "Now, let us get to work and clean up this correspondence."
Thus her new duties began. There was an air of quiet in the private office, a greater luxury of appointment, which suited Miss Hazel Weir to a nicety. The work was no more difficult than she had been accustomed to doing--a trifle less in volume, and more exacting in attention to detail, and necessarily more confidential, for Mr. Andrew Bush had his finger-tips on the pulsing heart of a big business.
Hazel met Nelly Morrison the next day while on her way home to lunch.
"Well, how goes the new job?" quoth Miss Morrison.
"All right so far," Hazel smiled. "Mr. Bush said you were going to Midland."
"Leaving for there in the morning," said Nelly. "I've been wanting to go for a month, but Mr. Bush objected to breaking in a new girl--until just the other day. I'm sort of sorry to go, too, and I don't suppose I'll have nearly so good a place. For one thing, I'll not get so much salary as I had with Mr. Bush. But mamma's living in Midland, and two of my brothers work there. I'd much rather live at home than room and live in a trunk. I can have a better time even on less a week."
"Well, I hope you get along nicely," Hazel proffered.
"Oh, I will. Leave that to me," Miss Morrison laughed. "By the way, what do you think of Mr. Bush, anyway? But of course you haven't had much to do with him yet. You'll find him awfully nice and polite, but, my, he can be cutting when he gets irritated! I've known him to do some awfully mean things in a business way. I wouldn't want to get him down on me.