“You use a typewriter,” she began.
“Look here, young woman,” Emily Grimshaw turned on her suddenly, “if you’re a writer, say so. And if you’ve come here looking for a position——”
“That’s it exactly,” Judy interrupted. “I’m sure I could be of some service to you.”
“What?”
“I might typewrite letters for you.”
“I do that myself. Haven’t the patience to dictate them.”
“Perhaps I could help you read and correct manuscripts,” Judy suggested hopefully.
The agent seemed insulted. “Humph!” she grunted. “Much you know about manuscripts!”
“I may know more than you think,” Judy came back at her. It was hard to be patient with this irritable old lady. Certainly she would never have chosen such an employer if it had not been for the possibility of meeting Dale Meredith again. Irene had taken such a fancy to him.
“Lucky she doesn’t know that,” thought Judy as she watched her fumbling through a stack of papers on her desk. Finally she produced a closely written page of note paper and handed it to the puzzled girl.