"Miss Brewster," Mr. Barrett began affably, "I have here"--and he picked
up a paper on which he had made some notations--"a call for a
stenographer which is a little out of the ordinary line." He paused to
let that sink in.
"Yes, sir," I murmured respectfully. My heart began to beat freely again.
He wasn't going to lecture me about skipping school!
"Mrs. Osgood Harper," continued Mr. Barrett crisply, "telephoned me this
morning personally, and asked if I had a young lady whom I could send her
every day from nine until one to attend to her personal correspondence.
She is very particular about the kind of person she wants; it must be
someone who is refined and educated, as well as a good stenographer, for
a good deal of her work will be social correspondence. She also intimated
that the girl must be--er, reasonably good looking."
He paused a second time and again I said meekly, "Yes, sir." There didn't
seem to be anything else to say.
"I have carefully considered all the girls in the finishing class,"
continued Mr. Barrett, "and you seem to be the only one I could consider
for the position. I know Mrs. Harper and know that in some ways she will
be hard to work for. But the pay she offers is generous; better than you
could do as a beginner in a commercial house, and the hours are
excellent, nine to one, leaving your afternoons free. Besides that, there
will be the advantage to yourself of coming in contact with such people
as the Harpers, and the pleasure of working in such beautiful
surroundings. You are a girl who will appreciate such things. You know
who the Harpers are, of course?"
I had never heard of them, but I was quite willing to be enlightened. The
Harpers, it seemed, were in the first boatload of settlers that landed on
our town site; they had since accumulated such a fortune that it made
Pike's Peak look like an ant hill; and no matter what string Mrs. Harper
harped on, people were sure to sit still and listen. Now she desired a
personal stenographer of maidenly form, and I, Sahwah the Sunfish, had
been measured by the awe-inspiring Mr. Barrett and found fit.
My feelings as I came out of the office were far different from those
with which I went in. I entered with a guilty droop; I came out with my
head in the air. I hadn't dreamed of getting such a position to start
with. I had pictured myself as beginning at the bottom in some big office
and slowly working to the top. But to begin my career by doing the
private work of Mrs. Osgood Harper! It seemed like some fairy tale. I
tried to think of something to say to Mr. Barrett to thank him for having
recommended me for the position, but the shock had sent my wits
skylarking, and the only thing that came into my head was that song that
we used to sing:
"Out of a city of six million people, why did you pick upon me?"
and that, of course, was impossible as a noble sentiment.
The next morning I set out on my Joyous Venture. The Osgood Harpers lived
on the Heights in a great colonial house set up high on a hill and
approached by long, winding walks. It was more than a mile from the
street-car, but I enjoyed the walk through those beautiful estates. I
couldn't have served a tennis ball in any direction without hitting a
millionaire.
Mrs. Harper was a stout and tremendously impressive lady about forty
years old. She had steely blue eyes that looked right through me until I
began to have horrible fears that there was something wrong with my
appearance and she would presently say that I would not do at all. But
she didn't; all she said was, "So you are Miss Brewster, are you?" and
motioned me to sit down at a writing table.
She had received me in a cozy little sitting room which opened out of her
bedroom, and it seemed that this was to be my office. She started right
in to lay out my work for me and I didn't have much time to look around
at the beautiful furnishings. The work was far different from anything we
had had in school, but very interesting, and I took to it from the start.
Mrs. Harper is chairman of countless committees, and secretary of several
societies, and there were quantities of notices to send out to committee
members, and letters to write to business men soliciting subscriptions to
various funds and things like that, all to be written on heavy linen
paper of finest quality, bearing the Harper monogram in embossed gold in
the upper left-hand corner.
I worked away with a will and the morning hours flew. I would have worked
right on past one o'clock without knowing it if there hadn't been an
interruption. Shortly after noon the door opened and a girl of about
seventeen walked in. She was extremely pretty; that is, at first glance
she was. She was very fair, with bright pink cheeks and big blue eyes.
Her yellow hair was plastered down over her forehead in an exaggerated
style, and monstrous pearl earrings dangled from her ears. She had
evidently just come in from outdoors, for she wore an all mink coat and
held a mink cap in her hand. Without a glance in my direction she began
chatting to Mrs. Harper in a thin, nasal, high-pitched voice. I dropped
my eyes and went on with my work. In a minute I could feel her staring at
me.
"Ethel," said Mrs. Harper, as soon as she could get the floor, "this is
Miss Brewster, my stenographer. Miss Brewster, my daughter Ethel."
I acknowledged the introduction pleasantly; Miss Ethel favored me with
another stare, murmured something in an indistinct tone and then
immediately turned her back on me and went on talking to her mother.
Right then and there my admiration for the "first families" got a
setback; I didn't admire Ethel Harper's manners, not a little bit. She
had "snob" written all over her features. I could see that she classed me
with the servants and as such she didn't trouble herself to be polite to
me.
"A lot there is to be gained by associating with _her_," I said to
myself. "I'll be just as cool and dignified as possible when _she's_
around. She won't get another chance to snub me."
But in spite of her I was enthusiastic about the position and could
hardly wait until I got there the next day. Mrs. Harper went out shortly
after I arrived and I worked alone. Ethel Harper came home from school at
noon and went through the room on the way to her mother's, but I rattled
away on the typewriter and never looked up. She came out soon and went
into her own room, which was on the other side. In about fifteen minutes
I heard her call me.
"Miss Brewster!" I stopped typing.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Come here," she called, and her voice sounded impatient.
I stepped across the hall into her room. She was standing in front of the
mirror putting on a ruffled taffeta dress, which she was struggling to
adjust.
"Hook me up!" she commanded, without the formality of saying "Please."
I had it on the end of my tongue to tell her that I was a stenographer,
not a lady's maid, but I remembered "Give Service" in time, and hooked
her up without a word. She never even said "Thank you!" She just sat down
at her dressing table and began pencilling her eyebrows. Evidently it
must have been the maid's day out, for she called me in again later to
pin her collar.
"Have I got too much color on my face?" she asked languidly, dabbing away
at her cheeks with some red stuff out of a box in front of her. Then she
put carmine on her lips, a sort of whitewash on her nose and forehead and
finished it with some pencilled shadows under her eyes. All I could think
of was Eeny-Meeny, the time we gave her that coat of war paint.
"What's that?" asked milady while I was fastening her collar, poking her
finger at my Torch Bearer's pin.
"It's a Camp Fire pin," I replied.
"What's Camp Fire?" she demanded idly.