"Thank you. I will make application. I did not come up here to talk of my own affairs. I understand that your stenographer has quit and I want to recommend one to you."
"No, my stenographer has not quit, but she is off for a two weeks' vacation."
"I thought if you didn't have a stenographer I would make a recommendation. Do you know of anyone who does need one?"
"No, not at present. Who is the stenographer you wish to secure a position for?"
"Miss Babcock, the stenographer at the Central State Bank."
"Are you interested in stenographers in general or Miss Babcock in particular?" Wilson asked with a knowing smile.
"It's an interest in Miss Babcock in particular," admitted Harold.
"Eh, you sly fox, I thought so," said Wilson as he gave Harold a vigorous punch in the ribs. "Well, I don't blame you. If I were twenty-five years younger you might have some competition, but as I am old and fat I presume I will have to trot along in single harness, pulling the whole load by myself to the end of the road. What is the matter with the job at the bank?"
"She only gets ninety dollars a month. You know, Mr. Wilson, that that isn't enough for a good stenographer. Ruth—I mean Miss Babcock—has to support her father and aunt. They can get along on her salary, but her father was injured in an automobile accident and as a result of the injury he lost his memory. Miss Babcock is anxious to save enough money to send her father to a specialist."
"I like to see a girl like that succeed. If she is worth more than ninety dollars a month Stover should pay it to her."