“Well, you know,” he said, “she’s right. It does upset the routine, and
so on; but, hang it all, that girl simply couldn’t stand being
discharged! She has pluck enough, and all that, but she’s sensitive.
She’s too darned sensitive entirely. I wish to Heaven she’d picked out
some other office to start in! She’s got some fool idea in her head that
it’s the first job that makes or breaks you. It’s no use pointing out
her faults to her; she knows ’em. She’s trying to overcome them; but
she’s just naturally slow.”
He tried her at filing. Not for long, though; the tumult was too great.
He tried her at bookkeeping; but she herself admitted that figures were
not her forte.
“There must be _something_ that girl can do, or can be taught to do!” he
cried in despair. “Everybody has some aptitude, and she’s not stupid.
She can talk well about books and so on.”
“Do you talk to her, Graves?” I asked. “Much?”
“Oh, yes,” he answered innocently. “I talk to her a lot. I try to find
out what she’s adapted for; but I can’t, for the life of me. And yet I
can’t fire her. I simply can’t do it. She says no one else would give
her the same chance I do; and that’s no lie. She wouldn’t last a week in
any other office!”
“Unless--” said I, and hesitated.
“Unless what?” asked Graves.
“Unless there were another personnel manager as--as conscientious as
you.”
“Well,” said Graves, “it’s this way--there’s a big responsibility
attached to my job. I shouldn’t like to think I’d destroyed the
self-confidence of a girl like Miss Clare.”
“Anything would be better than that,” I said.
Graves looked at me with dawning suspicion.
“Well, you’re all wrong,” he said severely, “if you think there’s
any--any personal element in this. It’s simply that I’ve got a heavy
responsibility--”
“You bet you have!” said I, and left him with that.