"
Hazel went back for her notebook, wondering mildly why she should be
called upon to shoulder a part of Nelly Morrison's work, and a trifle
dubious at the prospect of facing the rapid-fire dictation Mr. Bush was
said to inflict upon his stenographer now and then. She had the
confidence of long practice, however, and knew that she was equal to
anything in reason that he might give her.
When she was seated, Bush took up a sheaf of letters, and dictated
replies. Though rapid, his enunciation was perfectly clear, and Hazel
found herself getting his words with greater ease than she had expected.
"That's all, Miss Weir," he said, when he reached the last letter.
"Bring those in for verification and signature as soon as you can get
them done."
In the course of time she completed the letters and took them back.
Bush glanced over each, and appended his signature.
"That's all, Miss Weir," he said politely. "Thank you."
And Hazel went back to her machine, wondering why she had been
requested to do those letters when Nelly Morrison had nothing better to
do than sit picking at her type faces with a toothpick.
She learned the significance of it the next morning, however, when the
office boy told her that she was wanted by Mr.
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