Ordinarily these things are expected from a mountain constructionist and

elicit no comment from headquarters, but the matter at the Spider was one

that could hardly pass unnoticed. For a year Glover had been begging for

a stenographer. Writing, to him, was as distasteful as soda-water, and

one morning soon after his return from the valley flood a letter came

with the news that a competent stenographer had been assigned to him and

would report at once for duty at Medicine Bend.

Glover emerged from his hall-office in great spirits and showed the

letter to Callahan, the general superintendent, for congratulations.

"That is right," commented Callahan cynically. "You saved them a hundred

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thousand dollars last month--they are going to blow ten a week on you.

By the way, your stenographer is here."

"He is?"

"She is. Your stenographer, a very dignified young lady, came in on

Number One. You had better go and get shaved. She has been in to

inquire for you and has gone to look up a boarding-place. Get her

started as soon as you can--I want to see your figures on the Rat Cañon

work."

A helper now would be a boon from heaven. "But she won't stay long after

she sees this office," Glover reflected ruefully as he returned to it.

He knew from experience that stenographers were hard to hold at Medicine

Bend. They usually came out for their health and left at the slightest

symptoms of improvement. He worried as to whether he might possibly have

been unlucky enough to draw another invalid. And at the very moment he

had determined he would not lose his new assistant if good treatment

would keep her he saw a trainman far down the gloomy hall pointing a

finger in his direction--saw a young lady coming toward him and realized

he ought to have taken time that morning to get shaved.

There was nothing to do but make the best of it; dismissing his

embarrassment he rose to greet the newcomer. His first reflection was

that he had not drawn an invalid, for he had never seen a fresher face in

his life, and her bearing had the confidence of health itself.

"I heard you had been here," he said reassuringly as the young lady

hesitated at his door.

"Pardon me?"

"I heard you had been here," he repeated with deference.

"I wish to send a despatch," she replied with an odd intonation. Her

reply seemed so at variance with his greeting that a chill tempered his

enthusiasm. Could they possibly have sent him a deaf stenographer?--one

worn in the exacting service at headquarters? There was always a fly

somewhere in his ointment, and so capable and engaging a young lady

seemed really too good to be true. He saw the message blank in her hand.

"Let me take it," he suggested, and added, raising his voice, "It shall

go at once." The young lady gave him the message and sitting down at his

desk he pressed an electric call. Whatever her misfortunes she enlisted

his sympathy instantly, and as no one had ever accused him of having a

weak voice he determined he would make the best of the situation. "Be

seated, please," he said. She looked at him curiously. "Pray, be

seated," he repeated more firmly.




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