In a few minutes she returned to her machine, copied a short letter addressed to Jarboe, Willicutt & Co., locked up her notebook and proceeded to put on her hat, an unusual circumstance at that hour.
“Are you going out, Miss Brown?” inquired Mr. Vyce in some surprise.
“Yes, sir,” answered Bessie coldly.
“Rather early for lunch, is it not?” he asked, coming to the end of his desk and regarding her movements curiously.
“I am not going to lunch.”
“Then you are going out on business for Mr. Whitemore, I take it?”
Bessie made no answer, but having got her hat on straight, she deliberately walked to the outer door and passed into the corridor.
“You seem to be putting on a whole lot of airs with me, young lady,” snarled the bookkeeper to the empty office; “all of a sudden, too. You haven’t spoken a civil word to me since that young cub Thornton went away on confidential business for the old man. I shall make it my business to take you down a peg or two. If I am not mistaken in my calculations, you’ll be looking for a new job before long, Bessie Brown—you and that young imp, curse him! If I can keep you both out of the financial district you may depend upon my exertions to that effect.”
At that moment his alarm went off, and sticking his pen into the rack, he walked into the private office.
“Sit down, Mr. Vyce,” said the big corn operator curtly. “You have been in my employ a matter of six years, I think?”