North of Fifty-Three | Page 4

at nine o'clock, Mr. Andrew Bush walked through the office, greeting
the force with his usual curt nod and inclusive "good morning" before
he disappeared behind the ground-glass door lettered "Private." With
the weekday he had apparently resumed his business manner.
Hazel's work consisted largely of dictation from the shipping manager,
letters relating to outgoing consignments of implements. She was rapid
and efficient, and, having reached the zenith of salary paid for 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