The girl flashed quick eyes at him, and said, "Oh, I don't know," and went on with her work. He began to read, but in a few minutes laid his book down. "How'd you like to be a court stenographer?" The girl kept on writing. "Honest now I mean it. If I win this election and get this job for the two years of unexpired term, you'll be court stenographer--pays fifteen hundred a year." The girl glanced quickly at him again, with fire in her eyes, then looked conspicuously down at the keyboard of the writing machine. "I couldn't leave home," she said finally, as she pulled out a sheet of paper. "It wouldn't be the thing--do you think so?" He put his feet on the desk, showing his ankles of pride, and fingering his mustache, smiling a squinty smile with his handsome, beady eyes as he said: "Oh, I'd take care of you. You aren't afraid of me, are you?" They both laughed. And the girl came over with a sheet of paper. "Here is that Midland Valley letter. Will you sign it now?" He managed to touch her hand as she handed him the sheet, and again to touch her bare forearm as he handed it back after signing it. For which he got two darts from her eyes. A client came in. Joseph Calvin hurried in and out, a busy little rat of a man who always wore shiny clothes that bagged at the knees and elbows. George Brotherton crashed in through the office on city business, and so the afternoon wore away. At the end of the day, Thomas Van Dorn and Miss Mauling locked up the office and went down the hall and the stairs to the street together. He released her arm as they came to the street, and tipped his hat as she rounded the corner for home. He saw the white-clad Doctor trudging up the low incline that led to Elm Street.