Plentywood herald. [volume] (Plentywood, Mont.) 1908-current, 1928-11-08

1tA ibVAiCi VIII Dt htf Suai ioh
but my wife is a busy woman and
well, | would like to think that Susan.
/ mean Annabel, would once In
a while get the sort Of advice or
friendly letter that a father would
give her"
Foster had known intuitively the
things his friend would have liked
to say. That his wife, good woman
though she was, was so involved in
this civic duty and that social obliga-
tion that her daughter would get but
a very casual supervision. A good
school, liberal allowance, and a gen.
erous gift each birthday and Christ
mas would largely comprise what she
saw as her parental duty.
Four years ago Annabel had been
well, say twelve or thirteen-maybe
fourteen. That would make her-oh,
somewhere between sixteen and
twenty. But he ought to know, really,
before he advised her as to being too
young for this and too old for that.
He might take a run down some time
and see her, he supposed.
Three days later the telephone rang
on Mr.. Foster Deming's desk. He
hoped it would prove the applicant he
was looking for. but it didn't. The
agitated voice Of q woman struck his
ears.
as this Mr.. Deming? It is? Well,
Susan. OF Annahel Wentworth has
simply disappeared. She left a note
saying she had clipped, but we can't
think with whom She knew simply
nobody to elope with. I've tried to
get her mother, but they tell me she
is at a convention in st. Louis. I'm
so upset and | do need a mans adj
vice. In these days"
He simply had to break In on the
flow of words. Don't worry. It's
not your fault, I'm sure. I'll see what
I a do"
But after he had hung up he sat
for some minutes in irritated medita-
ton. If the girls mother had been
dead he would have resigned himself
to his trust AS 1t was, he had no
| authority In the matter. No right to
interfere, other than the right any
man has to protect any young and
ignorant person.
"An applicant, Mr.. Oeming," the
assistant broke In On his thoughts.
"Send her in, please"
She was the est looking one so far.
Slender, of excellent carriage, we'll
| bred In manner.
"Please sit down, Miss"
81 heard you needed a stenog-
rapher," she said quietly, ignoring the
opportunity to give her name. And
because her interviewer was so at
tracted by her low and charming
voice. be let the question of her name
go for a minute.
"Can you-er-spell?" he asked.
TRY me-" she said.
slave you had any experiencew
THAT Is my weak spot" admitted
his caller frankly. "But you might try
me out. If | don't make good, the
remedy is in your hands,"
when can you begin?' he said.
"At once" and for the first time she
smiled. She took off her coat, her
little felt hat, nuffed up her hair with
her fingers, took n pencil out of her
bag with O business like air.
"Where Is my desk. please? My
name-or, Observation-Disclosures
mabel Wentworth T.
II was months later and Foster
Deming was penning IN advertisement
for a stenographer. "All my best ones
get married." he complained to the
young lady 'ho was leaning over him
with her arms about his neck.
"Well-I did fill in, didn't n" asked
Annabei. ~ bet you would have kept
me in that old school till | was thirty
If hadn't run away the day | was
twenty-onel Why, | took those busi-
ness subjects just because there was
nothing else to take. / hadn't any
Idea Of ever using It, until you sug-
gested | be your stenographer."
81, darlingT
"Why, yes. Your letter. That was
what made me think of it."
my dear A~nnabel-" But this