The door closed, and after slipping an extra carbon and a sheet of very thin copy paper into the typewriter, Dorothy read Mrs. Lawson’s treatise on “Winnite and Its Properties” from start to finish.
“Horrible!” she murmured, as she finished reading. “Simply horrible!” Again her eyes sought the last paragraph. “The effect is easily estimated of an airplane dropping a single bomb filled with the explosive, inflammable and deadly poison gas, Winnite, upon Manhattan Island, for instance: the bomb would explode upon detonation and within an inconceivably short space of time, not only would the City of Greater New York be in flames, but every living thing within that area would be dead from the poison fumes. This includes not only human, animal and insect life, but all vegetable matter as well.”
Dorothy sighed. “And I am supposed to help keep this terrible stuff from the hands of thieves so that our government may use it in time of war. Well—we’ll see—and that’s not that by a long shot!”
She put down the manuscript and began to type it.
Chapter XIV
PROFESSOR
Dorothy, upon finishing the article on Winnite, laid the original and first carbon copy of the typewritten sheets on Mrs. Lawson’s desk. The almost transparent sheets of the second carbon copy she folded carefully as though she meant to place them in an envelope. But instead of this, her right foot slipped out of its walking pump, the sheer silk stocking followed it. Then she put on the stocking again, but now the soft papers rested between the stocking and the sole of her foot. The pump fitted more snugly than before, although not uncomfortably so. Content with her morning’s work, she had closed the typewriter and was studying the effect of a new shade of powder in her compact mirror when Mrs. Lawson came into the room.
“I take it you’ve finished the work?”
“The original and copy are beside the longhand manuscript on your desk,” said Dorothy, toning down her efforts with the puff. “I’ve read it over and I don’t think you’ll find any mistakes.”
Mrs. Lawson ran her eyes over the typewritten sheets. “They are without a fault,” she declared, placing them in a drawer. “If you take dictation as accurately as you type, Janet, you’ll be the perfect secretary.”
“Thank you,” said Dorothy demurely and slipped the compact into the pocket of her frock. “It is very nice of you to say that.”