Say, honest, I'd like awful much to try it on. I'd just
have to have part time of one stenographer."
"Well, you know our stenographers are pretty well crowded.
But you can leave the outline with me. I'll look it over,"
said Mr. Guilfogle.
That same afternoon the manager enthusiastically O. K.'d the
plan. To enthusiastically--O. K. is an office technology for
saying, gloomily, "Well, I don't suppose it 'd hurt to try it,
anyway, but for the love of Mike be careful, and let me see any
letters you send out."
So Mr. Wrenn dictated a letter to each of their Southern
merchants, sending him a Dixieland Ink-well and inquiring about
the crops. He had a stenographer, an efficient intolerant young
woman who wrote down his halting words as though they were
examples of bad English she wanted to show her friends, and
waited for the next word with cynical amusement.
"By gosh!" growled Bill Wrenn, the cattleman, "I'll show her I'm
running this. I'll show her she's got another think coming."
But he dictated so busily and was so hot to get results that he
forgot the girl's air of high-class martyrdom.
Pages:
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278