Pulp Fiction, 1914 · page 234 of 266
The Argosy, Vol. 76, No. 3 — page 234: what you’re looking at
A restored page from Pulp Fiction, 1914. Page through the whole issue in the reader above.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
“Winifre ced Arno nold weiik - agent breezed | into the office of F. H. Rob- erts & Co. like a whiff of the west wind, picked up a loose sheet of paper on the floor, straightened a cal- real-estate endar on the wall, said ‘‘ Good morn- ing’? to two men and a girl, opened a roll-top desk, and sat down before it to sort a handful of mail, “ all,” as the office-girl put it, graphically but in- elegantly, “in one jerk of a lamb’s tail.” The Real-Estate Journal, lying on top, was torn open with a swift, de- cisive thrust—of a hat-pin! Now will you take a guess at the real-estate agent’s sex? And, “What do you think of that?’”’ she sniffed. On the front page a very fair repro- duction of her own piquant little vis- age stared her in the face, with this description in bold-faced type: ‘ Miss Sarah L. Reynolds, The Leading Lady Real-Estate Agent of Chichester, New York.” “Lady Real-Estate Agent!” she sputtered in the rapid little way that lent a new force to Mr. Roberts’s fa- vorite description of his young sales- woman: “ A live wire.” ‘“ Lady Real- Estate Agent! In the same class with lady drummer and lady chauffeur! “Well, I'll have them know that I’m just plain real-estate agent, with- out any qualifying ‘lady’ about it; and one of these days I’m going to have them print that same thing—the picture may be a few years older— but the word ‘lady’ is the only one they'll cut out! So!” Mr. Roberts and the other man, Mr. Burton, rose and bowed with exag- gerated deference, and the ‘“ Lady Real-Estate Agent’ came to herself with a little chuckle. “Clearing to settled,” she an- nounced briskly. ‘“ What’s on the cards for me this morning? Only to finish up that Clark Street deal?” Mr. Koberts looked a trifle wor- ried. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Reynolds,” he said. “ I know you hate to bother with the rental end of it, but Powers has just telephoned that he’s down and out this morning and can’t be here, and I was going to ask you to take his place. This is the last gasp of the renting business till spring now.” 704 COIN Ghooks CO@