"Was it kind of ginger-colored," says I, "and done in a braid round her head?"
"Why—er—I believe it was," says he.
"And didn't she have sort of droopy shoulders," I goes on, "and a trick of starin' vague, with her mouth part way open?"
"Yes, yes!" says he eager. "But—but whom are you describing?"
"Ruby Everschott," says I. "Come down to the Corrugated and take a look."
Course it seemed like a 100 to 1 chance, but when I got the Wisconsin part of his yarn, and tacked it onto the rest, it didn't seem likely one State could produce two such specimens. Inside of fifteen minutes the three of us was strollin' casual through the front offices.
"Glance down the line of lady typists," I whispers to Oakley.
"By George!" says he gaspy. "The one at the far end?"
"You win," says I.
"And you also, my young wizard," says Oakley.