“No, he ain’t.”
“Oh,” the young man remarked, looking about the office. Near the stenographer’s desk was a door partly open, which led into an inner room. In the farther corner of this room could be seen the projecting corner of a steel safe. This Brainard felt must be his goal, and he unconsciously stepped toward the door of the inner office. The woman rose as if to bar his further progress and snapped irritably:
“What do you want here?”
“Why, I just want to talk to you,” he replied as amiably as he could.
“Cut it short then, young man. I haven’t any time to waste in conversazione.”
“You don’t seem very busy!” Brainard observed smiling.
“I’m always busy to strangers, little one—I do my day-dreaming outside of office hours.” She thrust the metal cover on her machine with a clatter. “See?”
“Oh, yes, I see,” Brainard replied and again tried to approach the inner office. The stenographer confronted him alertly and folding her arms demanded:
“What’s your game, anyway, young man? If you’re one of those lawyers—”
“No, I’m no lawyer,” Brainard said laughing. “Guess again!”