DICTATION
As far as Don was concerned, Miss Winthrop, instead of merely changing
her lunch-place, might just as well have taken a steamer and sailed
for Europe. He saw her at her desk every morning when he came in, and
she always looked up and nodded--as she did, for that matter, to every
one, including Blake. Then she turned to her work, and that was the
end of her until the next morning. As far as he was able to judge,
Miss Winthrop had completely and utterly forgotten the preceding weeks
and even the incident that led to this disastrous climax.
But the situation that left her so unaffected got on Don's nerves. He
was by nature too much of a social being to endure being left to
himself very long. This lunching alone day after day was a dreary
affair. The egg sandwiches began to pall upon his taste, and he felt
that he could not have eaten an eclair had he been starving.
Sometimes he had only a cup of coffee, and then hurried out and
wandered about the streets for the remainder of his hour. It was a
long hour--a tedious hour. Most of the time he spent in the hope that,
by some lucky chance, he might meet her. He did not hunt for her. He
avoided her usual course. If he met her, it must be honestly by
chance. But he never met her. He passed thousands of other young
women, but he never met her. He used to return to the office sometimes
doubting that she existed. But at one o'clock she was always there
back of her machine.
He spent a good deal of time that week with Powers; and seemed to make
some progress. He had now a definite knowledge of bonds and notes, and
had even mastered, in a general way, the important details of some of
the issues the house was handling. Twice he had taken home his papers
and actually spent several hours upon them. Some of them he knew
almost by heart. It was encouraging, but it would have been much more
encouraging if he had been able to tell Miss Winthrop about it.
Somehow, he did not feel that he really knew those things until he
had told her he knew them. This was a curious frame of mind to be in,
but it was a fact.
As far as he was concerned, he would have broken through this embargo
long ago. But she had made him see, and see clearly, that he was _not_
alone concerned. That was the whole trouble. If Blake talked only
about him, and let it go at that, no harm would be done.
One Friday morning, toward eleven o'clock, Blake was out of the
office, and Don had just finished a long talk with Powers, when he
noticed that Miss Winthrop was not for the moment busy.
Don had an inspiration. He caught Powers just as he was about to
leave.
"Look here, old man," he said in an undertone. "Is there any objection
to my dictating a letter to Miss Winthrop?"
"Why, no," answered Powers. "She's there for the use of the staff."
"Thought I'd like to have her take down some of the things we've been
talking about," he explained.
"Good idea," nodded Powers.
A minute later Miss Winthrop caught her breath as Don calmly walked to
her desk, seated himself in a chair near her, and, producing a
circular from his pocket, followed Blake's formula in asking:--
"Can you take a letter for me, Miss Winthrop?"
Almost as automatically as she answered Blake, she replied:--
"Certainly."
She reached for her notebook and pencil.
"_My dear Madame_," he began.
"Any address, Mr. Pendleton?"
"I don't know the exact address," he answered. "Just address it to the
little restaurant in the alley."
She looked up.
"Mr. Pendleton!"
"To the little restaurant in the alley," he continued calmly. "Do you
use Madame or Mademoiselle to an unmarried lady?" he inquired.
"I suppose this is a strictly business letter, or you would not be
dictating it in office hours," she returned.
"I'll make it partly business," he nodded. "Ready?"
"Yes, Mr. Pendleton; but I don't think--"
"Who is introducing the personal element now?" he demanded.
"Ready, Mr. Pendleton."
_My dear Madame_:--
In reply to your advice that I acquire certain information
relative to the securities which our firm is offering for sale, I
beg to report that, after several talks with our Mr. Powers, I am
prepared to give you any information you may desire.
"Try me on one of them?" he suggested, interrupting himself.
She raised her eyes and glanced anxiously around the office. Then she
replied, as if reading from her notebook:--
"You forget, Mr. Pendleton, that I am taking a letter from you."
"Try me on one of the bonds," he insisted.
"You mustn't act like this. Really, you mustn't."
"Then I'll dictate some more. Ready?"
"Yes, Mr. Pendleton."
Our Miss Winthrop has just informed me that you have lost your
interest in the whole matter.
"I didn't say that, Mr. Pendleton," she interrupted.
"What did you say, then?"
"I said that here in the office--"
"Oh, I see. Then scratch that sentence out."
She scratched it out.
"Have it read this way":--
Our Miss Winthrop informs me--
"Why need you bring me in at all?" she asked.
"Please don't interrupt."
--informs me that, owing to the lack of privacy in the office, you
cannot discuss these matters here with me. Therefore I suggest that,
as long as the luncheon hour is no longer convenient (for the same
reasons), an arrangement be made whereby I may have the pleasure of
dining with you some evening.
Miss Winthrop's brows came together.
"That is absolutely impossible!" she exclaimed.
If the idea does not appeal to you as a pleasure,--
he went on in the most impersonal of tones,--
perhaps you would be willing to consider it as a favor. Our Miss
Winthrop informs me that the suggestion is impossible, but personally
I don't see how anything could be more easily arranged. I would
prefer Saturday evening, as on that date I am quite sure of being
sufficiently well provided with ducats--
"You'd better save them," she interrupted.
--to insure a proper settlement with the waiter,--
he concluded his sentence.
Please let me know, then, where I may meet you on Saturday evening
next.
"I told you that was quite impossible, Mr. Pendleton," she reminded
him.
"You haven't told me why."
"There are a hundred reasons, and they can't be discussed here."
"That's it," he exclaimed triumphantly. "That's the whole trouble! We
can't discuss things here; so let's have our little dinner, and then
there'll be all the chance in the world for you to tell me why you
shouldn't come."
"You're absurd," she declared, with an involuntary smile.
Hoping for the favor of an early reply,--
he concluded,--
I beg to remain, Madame, most sincerely yours.
"Is that all?"
"You might add this postscript":--
I shall be at the Harvard Club at seven to-night, and a 'phone message
there might be the most convenient way of replying.
"You don't really wish this typed, Mr. Pendleton?"
"I think it best," he replied as he rose, "unless you're too tired?"
"I'm never tired in business hours."
He returned to his desk; in a few seconds he heard the click of her
machine.
Miss Winthrop did not stop at the delicatessen store that night, but
went direct to her room. She removed her hat and coat, and then sat
down, chin in hands, to think this problem out.
She had missed Pendleton at the luncheon hour to a distinctly
discomfiting degree. Naturally enough, she held him wholly responsible
for that state of mind. Her life had been going along smoothly until
he took it upon himself to come into the office. There had been no
complications--no worries. She was earning enough to provide her with
a safe retreat at night, and to clothe and feed her body; and this
left her free, within certain accepted limits, to do as she pleased.
This was her enviable condition when Mr. Pendleton came along--came
from Heaven knew where, and took up his position near her desk. Then
he had happened upon her at the little restaurant. And he was hungry
and had only thirteen cents.
Perhaps right there was where she had made her mistake. It appeared
that a woman could not be impersonally decent to a man without being
held personally responsible. If she did not telephone him to-night,
Pendleton would be disappointed, and, being disappointed, Heaven only
knew what he would do.
Under the circumstances, perhaps the wisest thing she could do was to
meet him this once and make him clearly understand that she was never
to meet him again. Pendleton was young, and he had not been long
enough in the office to learn the downtown conventions. It was her
fault that she had interested herself in him in the first place. It
was her fault that she had allowed him to lunch with her. It was her
fault that she had not been strictly businesslike with him in the
office. So she would have dinner with him, and that would end it.
She had some tea and crackers, and at half-past six put on her things
and took a short walk. At seven she went into a public pay station,
rang up the Harvard Club, and called for Mr. Pendleton. When she heard
his voice her cheeks turned scarlet.
"If you insist I'll come to-morrow night," she informed him. "But--"
"Say, that's fine!" he interrupted.
"But I want you to understand that I don't approve of it."
"Oh, that's all right," he assured her. "Where may I call for you?"
"I--I don't know."
"Where do you live?"
She gave her address.
"Then I'll call there."
"Very well," she answered.
"Now, I call that mighty good of you," he ran on. "And--"
"Good-night," she concluded sharply.
She hung up the receiver and went back to her room in anything but a
comfortable frame of mind.