“How many?” he asked, without looking up.
“All you gave me, sir.”
“All, so soon? Wait a minute and let me see how many mistakes.” He went over the letters rapidly, signing them as he read. “They seem to be all right. I thought you were the girl that made so many mistakes.”
Rebecca was never too frightened to vindicate herself.
“Mr. O’Mally, sir, I don’t make mistakes with letters. It’s only copying the articles that have so many long words, and when the writing isn’t plain, like Mr. Gerrard’s. I never make many mistakes with Mr. Johnson’s articles, or with yours I don’t.”
O’Mally wheeled round in his chair, looked with curiosity at her long, tense face, her black eyes, and straight brows.
“Oh, so you sometimes copy articles, do you? How does that happen?”
“Yes, sir. Always Miss Devine gives me the articles to do. It’s good practice for me.”
“I see.” O’Mally shrugged his shoulders. He was thinking that he could get a rise out of the whole American public any day easier than he could get a rise out of Ardessa. “What editorials of mine have you copied lately, for instance?”
Rebecca blazed out at him, reciting rapidly: