MARJORIE MAY.
No. — W. 45th Street.
I read all the others, to the last one; but these two had attracted my attention so thoroughly that the rest palled on my taste. Some were too plainly sent by the ordinary class of immoral women, who had taken this manner of making an acquaintance. One stated that she had the finest form in New York, which she would be happy to exhibit for my approval, in all its chaste splendor. Another had "lost her job" in a big department store, and would "appreciate the true friendship of a man who could spare $6 or $8 a week." Another frankly owned herself to be a "grass widow," who on the whole preferred one "friend" to twenty and offered me the first chance to fill that permanent position. Three or four were apparently school-girls who were tired of the wholesome restraints of home and wanted to run away with any man who would pay their bills.
One declared herself to be 42 years of age, an expert typewriter, and warned me against taking a "giddy young thing" on my journey when one of her assured character could be obtained. She added that her reason for desiring a change was that her employer was a scandalous person, whose goings-on with a younger typewriter with whom she had to associate were "awful." And she enclosed as a clincher an autograph letter from her pastor, recommending her to "any Christian gentleman" needing a reliable assistant.
Several were either married to men whose whereabouts were at present unknown or had been divorced. One admitted in a burst of frankness that she had "trusted a professed friend too far" and did not care what became of herself.
All of which was rather amusing in its way, but brought me no nearer to the goal of my desire—a bright, cheerful companion for the voyage I was about to undertake.
I examined the entire lot before I recollected the agreement I had made with Harvey Hume. Then I gathered up all the letters (except my two favorites)—for I did not mean to show these to any one—and started for his office in the middle of the afternoon. Harvey was in, of course; not that he had any clients or expected any, but because those were his office hours and he had nowhere else to go in particular. He was evidently glad to see me, especially when he espied my package, for he scented something to dispel his ennui.
We withdrew into his private office and he closed the door.
"Any prizes?" he asked, jocosely.
"You can decide for yourself," I answered. "They are entirely at your disposal."