“But we’re engaged to be married!”
“Yes, of course,—but he doesn’t know it. And I want to make good, even if it’s only for a few weeks. You understand, don’t you, Roy?”
Perhaps he did, perhaps he didn’t. Jeannette did not concern herself. She was absorbed in adequately filling this coveted job which satisfied her heart and soul and brain.
The hour of triumph when the news went abroad of her promotion was as gratifying as she could possibly have wished. The girls crowded about her, congratulating her, wringing her hands; Miss Foster impulsively kissed her. Jeannette knew they envied her; she knew that, for the time being, they even hated her; but their assumed pleasure in her good fortune was none-the-less agreeable. Miss Reubens complained sourly that the general office had lost its only efficient stenographer; Mr. Cavendish charmingly expressed his personal satisfaction in her advancement and gave her hand a warm pressure of friendliness; Mr. Kipps and Mr. Featherstone both complimented her with hearty enthusiasm. Jeannette was not cynical but she believed she put a proper value on these felicitations,—particularly those of these last two gentlemen. Mr. Corey was indeed the dominant power behind them all; their destinies lay largely in his hands, and she was now the go-between, the avenue of approach between the underlings and leader. As they had feared and disliked Smith, so they would fear and perhaps dislike her. She hoped they would learn to like her in time, but it was natural they should feel a great respect for President Corey’s secretary, and be anxious to gain her favor, hoping that to each of them she might prove a “friend at court.” Still they were not wholly insincere. Miss Holland, Jeannette felt, was genuinely pleased. The older woman held both her hands and told her how happy the news had made her; her eyes shone with the light of real pleasure. The girl felt her to be indeed a friend.
Jeannette took her new work with the utmost seriousness. She determined at the outset to treat everyone in the office with absolute impartiality, to carry whatever anybody entrusted to her to the President’s attention with an equal measure of fidelity, to see to it that Mr. Kipps or Horatio Stephens would fare the same at her hands. She planned to execute her secretarial duties automatically, disinterestedly, with the impersonal functioning of a machine.
But she discovered the futility of this scheme of conduct within the first few days. Miss Reubens wished to speak to Mr. Corey. Was Mr. Corey busy? Would Miss Sturgis be so good as to tell her when she might see him for a few minutes? Jeannette knew, as it happened, what Miss Reubens wished to interview Mr. Corey about; Miss Reubens had already discussed it with him, and he had already advised her. It would be merely adding to his troubled day to go over the matter again; nothing more would be accomplished. Besides, Jeannette knew Miss Reubens bored Mr. Corey just as she bored everybody else. The interview did not take place.
Again, Mr. Cavendish had promised a check to a distinguished contributor to Corey’s Commentary; he had assured the author-statesman it would be in the mail that afternoon without fail; would Miss Sturgis manage to get Mr. Corey to sign it at once? Miss Sturgis could and did, but a check to an engraving company, which Mr. Olmstead wished to be sent the same day, waited until next morning for the hour which Mr. Corey set apart for check-signing.
Her first concern was for Mr. Corey himself. She had guessed he was harassed and harried, but had no idea how greatly harassed and harried until she came to work at close quarters with him. He had tremendous capacity, was an indefatigable worker, but she had not observed his methods a week before she noted he did far too much that was unnecessary. Insignificant things engaged and held his attention; he frittered away his time upon trivialities. She set herself to save him what she could and began by keeping the office force from troubling him. Mr. Corey had a delightful personality, was a charming and stimulating talker, a most pleasing companion; his secretary understood quite clearly why every member of the staff liked to sit in an easy chair in his office and spend half-an-hour with him, chatting about details. He was too ready to squander his precious moments on anyone who came to him. It was difficult to sidetrack these time-wasters but in some measure she succeeded. Memorandums that came addressed to him, she dared answer herself; she even went so far as to lift papers from his desk and return them whence they came with a typed note attached: “Mr. Corey thinks you had better handle this. J. S.” Her daring frightened her sometimes. It was inevitable she should run into difficulties.
One afternoon the “buzzer” at her desk summoned her; it sounded more peremptory than usual.
“Miss Sturgis,” Mr. Corey addressed her, “Mr. Kipps left some information about our insurance on my desk a day or two ago; have you seen it?”