Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 14, 1928 — page 26: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

164 While a man in his office and in his social hours looks about the same, ex- cept when he is in evening dress, and then he looks uncomfortable, there is as much difference between a girl ste- nographer as she sits at her desk and the same girl when she is entertaining in her parlor as there is between Queen Mary when she is doing the housework in Windsor Castle and when she puts on her royal robes to receive a flock of American débutantes at court. Nora was pretty enough at the Davenport Realty Company office, but she had a business manner; now, in a little blue organdie, minus sleeves and low in the neck, she wasn’t the same girl at all. | Lester thought she was really beauti- ful. “Nice weather we’re having,” said Milligan. “Pretty good for the time of year. Did you hear how the ball game came out?” “Yankees won. home runs.” Milligan looked at Nora appealingly as if to say: “‘ Who is the big rufhan, and how can we get rid of him?” Lester also threw her a glance of re- proach. “In view of the fact that you asked me to come, why should [ have to talk to a thing like this?” was what his eyes demanded. Nora understood them both, and smiled wickedly, “Mr. Lucus used to work for the Davenport Company, Mr. Milligan,” she explained. “ He never did me the honor of calling on me before.” “That so?” replied Milligan indit- ferently. Lester looked him over thoughtful- ly. The cigar, the socks, the tie, the black mustache were the principal fea- tures of the gentleman, but it was possible that a girl might consider him good looking; the sort of inane stiff who posed for collar ads or played the hero in the movies. He wondered what his status might Ruth made two ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. be in this establishment. While Lester was not in love with Nora, had never considered her anything except a good little scout with an Irish sense of hu- mor, it was exasperating, when he had so much to tell her, to find the place full of uninteresting people. “What line are you in?” he asked casually. “Same as yours. I’m secretary to Ludwig Brinker.” “Ludwig Brinker? Guess I don’t know him.” “ You must if you’re in the packing business. He owns the Comet brand.” “Oh,” ejaculated Lester, throwing an indignant glance at Nora. While he was not ashamed of his new occupa- tion—at least, not much ashamed of it —he knew how this person would re- gard the proprietor of a frankfurter stand. It was mean of Nora to have made that remark. In a moment Milligan would ask him what he did, and he would have to tell him. “ Sausages,” he said. “I get you now. What do you think of the Euro- pean situation?” “ What European situation?” “ Why—er—you know, the League of Nations, Mussolini, universal dis- armament.” “It’s a lot of bunk,” replied Milli- gan. “Well, maybe you're right.” Silence descended. Nora hummed a little tune and regarded her polished finger nails. “Miss Meagher and I were consid- ering taking in a picture before you came,’ asserted Milligan. “That was before Mr. Lucus came,” said Nora quickly. “I think it’s much nicer to sit here and talk about the European situation, don’t you?” “No,” said Milligan impolitely. “Mr. Lucus, do you use the Comet brand?” asked Nora. “Why—er—yes. They are pretty good sausages.” “Best on the market,” replied Mr. EOPMICLOOOKS (E@)