“Do you know,” she said, “you’ll never amount to a row of pins until you really find a desire to be of use to the world? If you try to help the world, sincerely and honestly, the world finds it out and helps you—and loves you.... Don’t you want people to like you?”
“No.”
“Well, when you can come to me and tell me you do want people to like you, I’ll have some hopes of you.... Report at the office at one o’clock. You’re hired.”
She walked away from him rapidly, and he stood peering after her with a lost, bewildered air. “What an extraordinary young woman!” he said to himself. Carmel seated herself at her desk to think. Her eyes glanced downward at the fresh blotter she had put in place the day before, and there they paused, for upon its surface lay a grimy piece of paper upon which was printed with a lead pencil:
Don’t meddle with Sheriff Churchill or he’ll have company.
That was all, no signature, nothing but the message and the threat. Carmel bit her lip.
“Tubal,” she called.
“Yes, Lady.”
“Who has been in the office—inside the railing?”
“Hain’t been a soul in this mornin’,” he said—“not that I seen.”