Belder Has Visitors
Everett Belder’s office was on the eleventh floor of the Rockaway Building. Bertha went up in the elevator, paused briefly before the door marked “EVERETT G. BELDER, Sales Engineer — Entrance. ” From behind the door came sounds of a typewriter being pounded with rapid rhythm, a speed and tempo that all but matched the expert touch of Elsie Brand herself.
Bertha opened the door.
A straight-backed, slim-waisted woman in the middle twenties looked up from the machine. Her fingers continued to pound at the keyboard as slate-grey eyes silently questioned Bertha Cool.
“Mr. Belder,” Bertha said.
The secretary ceased typing. “May I have your name?”
“Mrs. Cool. He’s expecting me. That is, he should be.”
“Just a moment, please. Be seated, Mrs. Cool.”
The secretary pushed back her chair, walked to the door of Belder’s private office, went through the motions of a peremptory knocking, and immediately vanished through the door. Bertha Cool remained standing.
The secretary reappeared. “You may go in, Mrs. Cool.”