Course, he can't give agents and grafters the
quick back-up, like I used to. He side-tracks 'em so gentle, they go
away as satisfied as if they'd been invited in; and I don't know but
his method works just as well. It ain't often they put anything over
on him, either.
So I'm surprised and grieved to see what's waitin' for one of our
plutiest directors outside the brass rail. In fact, I almost gasps.
Lady! More like one of the help from the laundry. The navy blue print
dress with the red polka dots was enough for one quick breath, just by
itself. How was that for an afternoon street costume to blow into the
Corrugated general offices with on a winter's day? True, she's wearin'
a gray sweater and what looked like a man's ulster over it; but there's
no disguisin' the fact that the droopy-brimmed black sailor was a last
summer's lid. Anyway, the whole combination seems to amuse the lady
typists.
This party of the polka dots, though, don't seem to notice the stir
she's causin', or don't mind if she does. A slim, wiry young female
she is, well along in the twenties, I should say. What struck me most
about her was the tan on her face and hands and the way her hair was
faded in streaks. Sort of a general outdoor look she had, which is odd
enough to see on Broadway any time of year.
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