“There’s a vacant table over there. You can have a Remington or an Underwood—anything you are accustomed to; we have all styles.... Miss Flannigan, take charge of Miss Sturgis, will you?”
A big-boned Irish girl came toward him. She was a slovenly type but apparently disposed to be friendly.
“I’ll lend you a note-book and pencils till you can draw your own from the stock clerk. You have to make out a requisition for everything you want, here. You’ll find paper in that drawer, and that’s a Remington if you use one.”
Jeannette slipped into the straight-back chair and settled with a sense of relief before the flimsy little table on which the typewriter stood. She was eager for a moment’s inconspicuousness.
“This is the kind of stuff he gives you.”
Miss Flannigan leaned over from behind and offered her several yellow sheets of typewriting.
Jeannette took them with a murmured thanks, and began to read.
“... deferred payment plan. Five dollars will immediately secure this handsome twenty-five volume set.... On the first of May, the price of these books, as advertised, must advance, but by subscribing now....”
She wet her dry lips and glanced at another page.
“The authenticity of these sources of historical information cannot be doubted.... Eliminating the traditions which can hardly be accepted as dependable chronicles, we turn to the Egyptian records which are still extant in graven symbols.”