Elwell raised his voice. “Well, let me assure you that he won’t say so. Ned Fielding has a career ahead of him. He’s not going to waste it by tying himself to some dumb little stenographer. I’m sorry, Martha, but you asked for this. And let me give you a little advice. Don’t ever in the future forget yourself enough to intrude upon your employer with a lot of silly personal problems. In the first place, if Ned Fielding made a pass at you... Hang it, you’re certainly not dumb enough to think... You’ve got a good figure. You’re twenty-five years old. You’ve been around. Why, hang it...”
When Elwell had sputtered himself into silence, Martha Gayman said quietly, “You see, I have a very sensitive disposition, Mr. Elwell. The reason Ned — Mr. Fielding’s — indifference hurts so much is because I’m inclined to notice little things. Things that perhaps no one else would notice always catch my attention. I’ve always been that way.”
Elwell was speechless with exasperation.
“Like this morning,” she went on smoothly. “The way I noticed that you’d been in the office, had waited for the mail-man, then pushed the mail back into the slot again. Lots of girls wouldn’t have noticed that, but you see, little things mean so much to me that — I always have...”
Elwell snapped to straight-backed attention, leaning across the desk, staring at the girl who sat regarding him with such a wistful expression, with eyes that were wide and round and — damn it, yes, utterly ox-like.
“What the devil are you talking about?” Elwell asked, and even to his own ears his voice sounded frightened.
“Little things that most people wouldn’t notice,” she said. “For instance, you hadn’t been in your private office. You came up here and waited in the outer office. That means you must have been waiting for something — like the mailman.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Elwell said.
She went on as though he hadn’t said anything. “You always read the sporting section of the paper first. It had been folded so that the sporting section was turned around, then you’d looked back at the headlines and had seen that about Addison Stearne. You’d dropped the paper on the floor then. You see, the janitor cleans out the ash trays, and polishes them as well, on Saturday. Your cigar ashes were in the ash tray and also the band from the cigar — that particular brand that you smoke, Mr. Elwell. You have them mailed to you from Florida, and your initials are on the band. Remember when you had me write the letters to the man who advertised that he made custom-built cigars?”
Elwell started to say something, then kept silent.
“And,” she said, “even the mailman has his little peculiarities. He has a certain particular method of sorting the mail for the offices in the building. You probably wouldn’t have noticed it, Mr. Elwell, because you don’t get the mail out of the mail chute, but I have done it morning after morning, so I’ve noticed the mailman’s system. The addresses are always facing up, and all the envelopes are stacked so that the addresses are straight up. Moreover, he puts the small envelopes on top, and the larger envelopes on the bottom. Well, this morning that was just reversed. The larger envelopes were on the top, and the smaller envelopes on the bottom, and the addresses weren’t the way the postman has them. Some of the addresses were up on the envelopes, and some of them were down. I’m just mentioning it, Mr. Elwell, to show you how sensitive I am and how I notice little things, and how Mr. Fielding’s conduct to a girl that’s as sensitive as I am makes so much more difference than — well, than if I were the kind who didn’t notice little things.”
Elwell said very slowly in a voice which sounded strangely unlike himself, “Just what do you want?”
She said innocently enough, “I thought perhaps that something had happened and Mr. Fielding felt I didn’t like him any more. Perhaps I’ve hurt his feelings and — well, you know how it is with lovers. You read about it in books and magazines. A person’s pride gets hurt, and he won’t come to the person he loves the way he would to someone else, and ask forgiveness and...”
“All right, just what do you want?”
“I thought perhaps you could speak to Mr. Fielding and tell him that I’m not at all angry with him, that I feel just like I did — like I always have. And you know, Mr. Elwell, of course, I wouldn’t want you to intimate that if he’d ask me to marry him, it would make me very, very happy, because I always think it’s better for a man to be a little in suspense when he proposes, don’t you? In that way, it’s sort of the high spot in his life. He remembers it always then.”
Elwell studied her face. “By God,” he said, “Fielding will always remember it, all right.”
“There’s a lot involved in this business deal, Mr. Elwell, the one that you said Mr. Hazlit might talk to me about?”
“Yes.”
She said, “Don’t you think it might be better for you to talk to Mr. Fielding before I talked with Hazlit? You see, I’ve been frightfully upset about this, and I’d hate to have something on my mind that would make me, perhaps, say the wrong thing.”
Elwell reached for his hat. “You’re quite right,” he said. “I’ll talk with Ned before you talk with Hazlit. If Hazlit rings up again, tell him I haven’t been in, and that I may not get in again this afternoon.”
“Where did Mr. Fielding go?”
“Down to get a haircut.”
“I think he has his hair cut at the barbershop right here in the building,” she said. “You’ll find him down there, and... and—”
“What now?” Elwell asked, his voice rasping.
“Nothing.” she said. “Only I haven’t any engagement for this evening — in case Mr. Fielding should ask you. Well, Mr. Elwell, I’m sorry I bothered you with a lot of my private affairs, but it’s been on my mind a lot lately. I feel so much better now. I feel that I can really concentrate on my work. I’ve got some filing to do. I hope I didn’t presume on your kindness, Mr. Elwell.”
He said nothing, but sat rigidly straight-backed at his desk, regarding the door through which she had left the office as though that door might hold the key to some secret. His cigar had gone out, and when he started to light it again, he saw that he had chewed the end of it into a ragged, soggy mass. With an exclamation of annoyance, he dashed it into the cuspidor, got up, and walked through the exit doorway into the corridor.
Chapter 13
Frank Duryea arrived home Monday night to find his wife, a mischievous twinkle in her eye, walking about the house with an exaggerated limp.
“What now?” he asked.
She regarded him solemnly. “It’s the right one.”
“Right what?”
“Leg, to you.”
“What about it?”
“It’s half gone.”
He thought for a minute before getting the idea from the expression in her eyes. Dropping into a chair and assuming his most professional manner, he said, “Let me take a look. We may have an action for damages.”
She lifted her skirt, slid her right leg across his knees, and Duryea examined it gravely, running the tips of his fingers up the sheer silk of her stocking.
“Well?” she asked.
“It’s very bad,” he admitted solemnly.
“That’s what I feared,” she whispered. “From looking at it, can you tell what caused it?”
“Yes. It’s been talked off.”
She nodded. “And I was so proud of it. Tell me, will it grow back?”
“That depends on a variety of factors. When did you first notice that it was disappearing?”
“This morning shortly after you left for the office. Oh, Frank, I’m so afraid you’ll have the same trouble!”