PETER RUFF.
Miss Brown glanced through the advertisement and closed her notebook with a little snap.
“Did you say—‘Dear Sir’?” she asked.
“Certainly!” Peter Ruff answered.
“And you really mean,” she continued, with obvious disapproval, “that I am to send this?”
“I do not usually waste my time,” Peter Ruff reminded her, mildly, “by giving you down communications destined for the waste-paper basket.”
She turned unwillingly to her machine.
“Mr. Fitzgerald is very much better where he is,” she remarked.
“That depends,” he answered.
She adjusted a sheet of paper into her typewriter.