Enough Is Too Much
He sat on the edge of her desk and swung his legs. She, being fully satisfied that the brevity of her frock and the excellence of her silk hose would lend charm to such a proceeding, did likewise. For she was a good secretary, and all study the tastes of their employers.
“Everything all right about the Sutton case?” he asked.
“Oh, quite,” she replied, “here are the papers,” and she passed them towards him—but before he could take them they fell to the floor.
“I am so awfully sorry,” she said, as he went down on his knees to pick them up, “let me help you.”
Then a most extraordinary thing happened. He kissed her. And she, being a proud girl and not wishing to accept favors from any man, returned it. It was a very free and easy office.
About an hour later he said he must go and see Brown about the Ware case.
But Brown was out.
So he sat on the edge of Brown’s secretary’s desk and swung his legs.
She, being every bit as good a secretary as his own, did likewise.
After a pleasant chat he said he must go home.
He found his wife reclining on a sofa swinging her legs.
“Had a busy day?” she asked him.
“Yes, very busy,” he replied.
“You’re late, are you not?”
“Yes,” he grunted, “one or two little things kept me at the office.” He glanced at his wife disapprovingly. “And for heaven’s sake, don’t sit there swinging your legs like that. It annoys me.”
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