He nodded, a quick and business-like little jerk of the head. "I see. I've been worrying you, I'm afraid; but I'm glad I made you tell, because I can put that all right for you at once, as it happens."
The girl, leaning on the wall, drew in a harsh breath and turned to him. Young Raleigh, who had written a monograph on engineering stresses, had still much to learn about the stresses that contort and warp the souls of men and women. He learned some of it then, when he saw the girl's face deaden to a blanker white and the flame of a hungry hope leap into her eyes. He looked away quickly.
"You mean you can?"
He hushed her with his brisk and matter-of-fact little nod.
"I mean I can find you a situation in a business office as a typist," he said explicitly. "Wasn't that what you wanted?"
"Yes, yes." She was trembling; he put one large, grimy hand upon her sleeve to steady her. "Oh, please, where is the office? I'll go there at once, before."
"Hush!" he said. "It's all right. We'll get a taxi and I'll take you there. It's the Machine-Tool and Gear-Cutting Company; I don't know what they pay, but—."
"Anything," moaned Annette. "I'll take anything."
"Well, it's more than that," he smiled. "A typist with Raleigh and
Son at her back isn't to be had every day of the week."
A taxicab drifted out of a turning on to the quay a hundred yards away; Raleigh waved a long arm and it came towards them.