Argosy and Railroad Man's Magazine, Vol. 107 No. 3 — page 52: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

394 on the opposite side of the block. It car- ried a sign: PUBLIC STENOGRAPHER. Here he made a reconnaissance. He padded back in the lot behind this building. Betwéen the soot from coal _ breakers that permeated the air, the low- lying clouds, and the deserted appearance of the premises adjacent to and in the rear of the hostelry, in the semidarkness he prowled about until there was nothing else to see, save a tumble-down shed adjoining the Mansion House in which stood a de- crepit carriage. Jimmy walked into this and surveyed the vehicle with the eye of one about to purchase a five-thousand-dollar automobile. His grave and preoccupied manner—had any one been observing him—would have been hard to understand, ere“he returned to the hallway with the sign which indicated there was still one more typewriter user in the merry little municipglity on whom he had not as yet called. He briskly ascended the stairs and en- tered the room indicated by the sign. Here he got his first big surprise of the after- noon, for at the far end by the front win- dow was sitting the selfsame young lady whose personality had caused him to re- mark it when talking with the clerk at the Mansion House. | Jimmy peered again to be sure. She was as dark as Niobe, and even when framed against the dingy window pane, with an in- candescent struggling against the omnipres- ent gloom, she seemed as enticing as Circe. And Jimmy, who had dabbled a bit in mythology, suddenly felf somewhat as the fabled Ulysses must have felt when he first beheld the charmer for whose sake he de- layed his home-coming, after voyaging with Jason and some others in search of the ‘* golden fleece.”’ Jimmy promptly adopted the antiquarian role, not wholly because of his ‘repeated failures to get people sufficiently interested in typewriters to ask to see what was in his case. Rather because of the girl’s re- pressed but wistful and eager glance at him :s he walked toward her. ARGOSY AND RAILROAD MAN’S MAGAZINE. And, the further he walked toward her, the more the semisepuichral day outside was left behind, with its burden of drudgery and disillusion, until it was so remote that he might have entered another world. Like Ulysses on a voyage, he navigated himself and case toward twin torches—for her dark eyes were both clear and brilhant. And, for the first time since callmg on Coal- port people he did not mention “.type writer.” ° Why should he, when Ulysses never had a typewriter? . Jimmy wasn’t altogether sure that his mythical prototype could even spell, al though he was thrilling to the propinguity of this girl—thrilling with that mysterious enchantment known only to sanguine youth —as he took off his hat and asked: ‘““May I dictate a letter to you?” ‘You may,” said she, her wistfulness merging into an engaging smile, “if you don’t go too fast.” “This is such a sad letter,” avowed Jimmy, torn between a desire to grimace and the “kick” her musical voice gave him, “ that the tempo of my dictation wil be that of @ funeral march. In fact, if @@alport had a crematorium, I should burn my fond hopes of business hereabouts, in- stead of embalming them in the mails, tem- porarily.”’ He seated himself and fished nervously m his vest-pocket. She was already reaching for paper, and noticed his action. ‘ You may smoke, if you care to,” said she, “ for I rather like to smell a good cigar occasionally, and I think men claim smoking makes them think better.” Jimmy thanked Her, bit off the end of his perfecto, applied a match, puffed a mo- ment, and began: “ Dear boss—”’ “ Pardon me—do you want a carbon Jimmy did, at all hazards. He wanted everything which would give him more time in her presence, although he left that un- voiced. | “Jt’s twenty-five cents extra, you know.” ° ; ‘“T didn’t know it,” said Jimmy; “ but what’s one cigar, more or less?” NOO (C(O) S Co mM