The Love of a Occupied Broker

 The Relationship of a Active Broker Composition

Pitcher, secret clerk in the office of Harvey Maxwell, broker, allowed a glance of moderate interest and surprise to see his usually expressionless countenance when his employer quickly entered by half past nine in company with his young lady stenographer. With a sharp " Good-morning, Pitcher, " Maxwell dashed at his desk that he were intending to step over it, then plunged into the great number of words and telegrams waiting presently there for him. The young lady had been Maxwell's stenographer for the year. The lady was gorgeous in a way that was decidedly unstenographic. She forewent the pracht of the fascinating pompadour. The lady wore zero chains, bracelet or lockets. She hadn't the air of being about to acknowledge an invite to luncheon. Her costume was greyish and basic, but it fitted her physique with fidelity and discretion. In her neat dark-colored turban hat was the gold-green wing of the macaw. With this morning she was softly and shyly radiant. Her eyes had been dreamily glowing, her face genuine peachblow, her expression a happy a single, tinged with reminiscence. Pitcher, still slightly curious, noticed a difference in her methods this morning. Rather than go straight into the adjoining place, where her desk was, she lingered, slightly irresolute, in the outer office. Once she transferred over by simply Maxwell's office, near enough for him to be aware of her presence. The appliance sitting too desk was not a longer a man; it was a fastpaced New York broker, moved by buzzing tires and uncoiling springs. " Well--what can it be? Anything? " asked Maxwell sharply. His opened mail lay such as a bank of stage snow on his populated desk. His keen grey eye, impersonal and scripte, flashed upon her 50 percent impatiently. " Nothing, " answered the stenographer, going away after some smile. " Mr. Glass pitcher, " the girl said to the confidential clerk, did Mister. Maxwell say anything the other day about interesting another stenographer? " " He would, " answered Pitcher. " He explained to obtain another one. I notified the agency the other day afternoon to send over a couple of samples this morning. It's on the lookout for. 45 o'clock, and not a single picture head wear or piece of pineapple gum has appeared yet. " " Let me do the act as usual, then simply, " said the dude, " till some one comes to fill the place. " And she visited her workplace at once and hung the black turban hat while using gold-green macaw wing in the accustomed place. He who may have been refused the stage show of a occupied Manhattan broker during a hurry of business is impaired for the profession of anthropology. The poet sings of the " crowded hour of marvelous life. " The broker's hour isn't only crowded, but the minutes and seconds happen to be hanging to all the straps and packing equally front and rear systems. And this day time was Harvey Maxwell's occupied day. The ticker started to reel out jerkily the fitful shelves of tape, the table telephone had a chronic harm of buzzing. Men began to throng into the office and call at him over the railing, jovially, sharply, cruely, excitedly. Messenger boys happened to run in and out with messages and telegrams. The clerks at the office jumped about like sailors during a storm. Even Pitcher's face peaceful into anything resembling cartoon. On the Exchange there were hurricanes and landslides and snowstorms and snow and volcanoes, and those elemental disturbances had been reproduced in miniature in the broker's offices. Maxwell pushed his chair against the wall structure and made business following the manner of a toe ballerina. He hopped from ticker to 'phone, from desk to door with the qualified agility of the harlequin. In the midst of this growing and important stress the broker became suddenly aware about a high-rolled fringe of glowing hair within nodding cover of purple velvet and ostrich tips, a great imitation sealskin sacque and a string of beans as large as hickory nuts, stopping near the floor with a metallic heart. There was clearly a self-possessed young lady connected with these components; and Pitcher was presently there to construe her. " Lady from your Stenographer's Company to see about the position, " said Glass pitcher....

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