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Show fefiraETRUE By ELEANOR W. ATWATER. Crashaw was leaving Bryant & Co and little Miss Thatcher was in despair. de-spair. She had worked for the big, blond treasurer for nearly bIx years, mid she could not bear the thought of w orking for anyone else. Crashaw was to leave because the firm wanted a cheaper man. Besides, the new management was a little crooked, at least, in comparison with the rigid standards of the original Bryant Bry-ant & Co. Tlie name, was to remain, hut the "new blood" was not blue blood. It was not good blood. Miss Thatcher knew that, as everyone did. She knew, too, that her position was shaky. The new people were dropping drop-ping the old staff. They had the "new blood" mania. Itesides, they wanted people with the crooked streak in them. Of course. It does not matter what a .plain stenographer's principles princi-ples are. but the new people did not like the "ladylike" atmosphere of the correspondence department. It wanted cheap, slfiigy girls who chewed gum and made mistakes, thereby being worth seven or eight dollars a week only. Miss Thatcher was getting twenty-live. Miss Thatcher was thirty. She lived alone in a boarding house, and had lived there, in backwater of the city, since she came to the metropolis, at twenty-three. And, living alone, she had indulged in day-dreams. Of late months Crashaw had figured fig-ured largely in these. The big, simple sim-ple treasurer was a bachelor. He was the best man on earth, in Miss Thatcher's Thatch-er's opinion. Because one is very daring in day-dreams, even a mouse-colored mouse-colored individuality like Miss Thatcher's, her day-dreams had taken this form: "Miss Thatcher, there is something I want to tell you. Since you have been here your work and your devotion devo-tion have Inspired me with the greatest great-est respect for you. Can i' venture to hope that some day you will honor me by becoming Mrs. Crashaw?" "Why, Mr. Crashaw, I never dreamed of such a thing. Give me a little time to think it over. Of course, I utterly reciprocate your sentiments, but I am not sure whether I love you." Nothing like that had happened. Crashaw's unfailing courtesy betrayed no tender feeling. And Miss Thatch- 1 1 He Was Chuckling to Himself. . er, ignorant of life though she was, and lonely, had come to realize that. She pitied the big man without a woman to take care of him, to take charge of his life. His coat was always al-ways so dusty. She was sure he ate things that were not good for him. But since Crashaw had received six months' notice, according to contract, Miss Thatcher had been worried about her own future. At thirty a woman of Miss Thatcher's type finds it difficult dif-ficult to start at the bottom again; and she saw no prospect of ever receiving re-ceiving twenty-five dollars to start. What would her ability count against the magic of personality? That she lacked sorely, and she only waited while the inexorable months flew by. She was too honest to look for another position until Bryant & Co. dispensed with her services. So she did nothing, and it was a week before Crashaw was to leave that the blow fell: It came in the shape of a curt official letter, intimating that her services would be no longer required one week from date. Little Miss Thatcher had not nerved herself for the blow, though she had expected it so long. She cried all night and went down to the office the next morning with a red nose. All that day Crashaw kept her busier than ever before in his private office It was not until five o'clock that he le ned back In his chair and watched Miss Thatcher attentively. He was chucking to himself, kindly man that he was. He had known thnt Miss Thatcher would be discharged, dis-charged, and he had arranged to take her over on his staff with the original Bryant, who was starting another business. He knew that the new people, peo-ple, with their tricky ways, would eventually have to go under, and permit per-mit Bryant to buy hack the control. Gut he needed Miss Thatcher, and he had always felt sorry for her. Somehow her clothes seemed old-maidish; old-maidish; and he was sure that she was a devotee of the chafing dish. He wished she had some good man to take care of her. She was never pretty, and not in the least degree so at the present time, with her eyes swollen from weeping, and her nose decidedly pink. The treasurer knew that she was worried over having to go. As a matter of fact, Miss Thatcher was almost equally worried over their impending separation. Six years of office companionship cannot but mean a good deal. And though she knew her day-dreams were foolishness, still they persisted, even though this cataclysm cata-clysm that had come on both of them. "Well, Miss Thatcher, I have given you a lot of work today," said Crashaw. Cra-shaw. "But there will be very little more. And now I have a great and I trust pleasant surprise for you. Miss Thatcher, there Is something I want to tell you." Little Miss Thatcher was totally unable un-able to prevent the electric thrill that ran through her. The very words! It was coming at last! Amazed at her prescience, she only stared at Crashaw Cra-shaw with her weepy eyes. "Since you have been here," he resumed, re-sumed, "your work and your devotion have inspired me with the greatest admiration. ad-miration. Miss Thatcher " 'The treasurer broke off in astonishment. astonish-ment. Miss Thatcher, always so staid and self-possessed, was weeping openly. open-ly. More, she was weeping on his shoulder. And then she looked up at him with a face that was so radiant that the treasurer was no longer astonished as-tonished only glad. He did not know how it happened, either, but his arm had fallen about her in the most natural way In the world. ' Mr. Crashaw was so very big, and Miss Thatcher so frail, that there was one position toward which they inevitably gravitated. In fact, if any office boy had happened to enter at that moment he would have seen Miss Thatcher seated almost not quite, for the chair's edge did interpose a tiny edge well, on the treasurer's knee. "My dear " faltered Crashaw, wondering won-dering how such a wonderful piece of luck had come to him, and whether he had blurted out anything which might have been construed as a dec laration. That was the time when Miss Thatcher altogether forgot the rest of the day-dream. For she only raised her eyes to Crashaw's and whispered: "Yes. I will. Of course, I will." And Crashaw found himself gladder than he had ever been in his life. (Copyright, 1915, by W. G. Chapman.) |
