“You’re wise, eh?” he repeated. The girl had maneuvered to place a table between them. He leaned against the table and placed a hand on hers.
“Why does a fine looker like you spend her life pounding a typewriter?”
“Would you advise a change?”
“You could make a hundred a week in the cabarets,” declared Druce admiringly.
“Perhaps,” replied Miss Masters. She picked up her notebook and started for the inner office. “But I know where that road leads.”
Druce was daunted with this reply. It wasn’t at all what he had expected.
“Oh,” he jeered, “you’re one of the goody-goody kind, are you? Fare you well. I’ll see you in church Sunday.”
The girl was now at the inner office door. She turned and eyed Druce narrowly.
“Thank you,” she replied without anger.
“Perhaps, some day, I’ll see you wearing stripes and looking through iron bars!”