"Never talk at meals, dear old typewriter," murmured Bones. "Awfully bad for your jolly young tum—for your indigestion, dear young keytapper."
The letter went on to express the writer's intention of taking vengeance for the "dishonest squeeze" of which he had been the victim.
Bones looked at his secretary anxiously. The censure of Mr. de Vinne affected him not at all. The possible disapproval of this lady filled him with dire apprehension.
"It's not a nice letter," said the girl. "Do you want me to answer it?"
"Do I want you to answer it?" repeated Bones, taking courage. "Of course I want you to answer it, my dear old paper-stainer and decorator. Take these words."
He paced the room with a terrible frown.
"Dear old thing," he began.
"Do you want me to say 'Dear old thing'?" asked the girl.
"No, perhaps not, perhaps not," said Bones. "Start it like this: 'My dear peevish one——"
The girl hesitated and then wrote down: "Dear Sir."