The Argosy, Christmas 1912 — page 204: what you’re looking at

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

N the hollow factory office old man Jowett’s growling dictation rumbled and reverberated like the sound of one of his own machines, The stenographer’s The two pencil raced fast to keep pace. only iwlumination came from shaded desk - lights; and so dim was their radiance outside of the area of. desk - tops that Jowett had to squint and poke his heavy, grizzled head to one side when he tried to make out the time by a wall clock. “Umph! Nearly ten.” The comment broke in on the course of the dictation; and the girl, her cheeks flushed with haste and excite- ment, looked up inquiringly—a dark- haired, brown-eyed girl that any ama- teur at character - reading could have named as a dreamer and an idealist. Jowett, heavy-jawed, with a wrinkled face as unemotional as a professional gambler’s, made a vivid contrast. He was all that she was not—old, shrewd, stolid, and grim. “Ten —ten o'clock, Miss Davis,” Jowett explained. “I just happened to think about how late it’s getting. We'll shut up shop as soon as I have blackness of the this last letter off my mind. Where were we?” ‘*** On account of a strike of discon- tented mill-hands,’ ” she read. He bruskly continued the dictation: ‘“mill-hands, many of our deliveries have been delayed, and your esteemed order of the 16th inst. among them. We ask your kind indulgence for a few more days on this account. We are confident that the trouble will quickly be settled. Our plant is pro- tected now with a heavy guard, and we are operating two of our five depart- ments to their full capacity. Trusting you will appreciate—” It was only the faint creak of a hinge that interrupted, but both Jow- ett and the girl heard and hesitated. A door at the darkest corner of the room opened. Jowett’s swivel - chair screeched as he leaned back and peered over the tops of his glasses. A lanky, slouching, broad - shoul- dered man advanced. His face was masked, and an automatic revolver shone steely-blue in a muscular hand. ‘““T guess you’re Jowett!” He spit out the words like an accusation, and flourished the revolver. 190 CO MICLOOKS C©