Two days later Una heard Babson come out and lament that the managing editor didn't like his masterpiece and was going to use the Kells Karburetor Kompany's original write-up. "That's what you get when you try to give the _Gas-bag_ some literary flavor--don't appreciate it!" She would rather have despised him, except that he stopped by the office-boys' bench to pull their hair and tell them to read English dictionaries. And when Miss Moynihan looked dejected, Babson demanded of her, "What's trouble, girlie? Anybody I can lick for you? Glad to fire the owner, or anything. Haven't met you yet, but my name is Roosevelt, and I'm the new janitor," with a hundred other chuckling idiocies, till Miss Moynihan was happy again. Una warmed to his friendliness, like that of a tail-wagging little yellow pup. And always she craved the touch of his dark, blunt, nervous hands. Whenever he lighted a cigarette she was startled by his masculine way of putting out the match and jerking it away from him in one abrupt motion.... She had never studied male mannerisms before. To Miss Golden of Panama men had always been "the boys." All this time Walter Babson had never spoken to her. CHAPTER V The office-manager came casually up to Una's desk and said, "You haven't taken any dictation yet, have you?" "No, but," with urgent eagerness, "I'd like--I'm quite fast in stenography." "Well, Mr. Babson, in the editorial department, wants to give some dictation and you might try--" Una was so excited that she called herself a silly little fool. She seized her untouched note-book, her pencils sharpened like lances, and tried to appear a very mouse of modesty as she marched down the office to take her first real dictation, to begin her triumphant career.... And to have Walter Babson, the beloved fool, speak to her. It was a cold shock to have to stand waiting behind Babson while he rummaged in his roll-top desk and apparently tried to pull out his hair. He looked back at her and blurted, "Oh! You, Miss Golden? They said you'd take some dictation. Chase those blue-prints off that chair and sit down. Be ready in a sec." While she sat on the edge of the chair Babson yanked out drawers, plunged his wriggling hands into folders, thrashed through a pile of papers and letters that over-flowed a wire basket, and even hauled a dictionary down from the top of the desk and hopefully peered inside the front cover. All the time he kept up comment at which Una smiled doubtfully, not quite sure whether it was meant for her or not: "Now what the doggone doggonishness did I ever do with those doggone notes, anyway? I ask you, in the-- Here they-- Nope--"