Henderson daily dispatch. (Henderson, N.C.) 1914-1995, 1939-02-24
CHAPTER NINE


ders, her prospective employer,
Iona felt treasured. He was tall
and stopped, even behind a desk.
He had a quick, nervous manner,
and piercing blue eyes. But he was
not a Hardy. A sigh of relief shook
her as she realized that. Crochety
and hard to please, probably, but
always, she felt, he would remain
impersonal.
Her first impression proved the
correct one. He scanned her card
from the agency and the letter she
had from Ardmore's, looked her
over briefly, asked piercing ques-
ton or two, and then let his trou-
bled blue eyes flash back to his
WOrk-streWn desk.
'"The pay will be twelve a week."
he told her. "Not much, I realize,
but in these times" He shrugged.
Barney, here" with nod at the
grinning Office boy, twill show you
where to put your things if you
care to stay"
If she cared to stay! Iona could
have laughed aloud, danced, done
any crazy outrageous thing, in
stead Of hanging her jacket and
hat demurely in the cloak closet,
and smoothing her brown hair into
"a neat frame for the eyes that
looked back at her from the mirror
with dancing brightness she had
thought departed from them long
ago. If she cared to stay. At twelve
dollars week. Just a little
more than half what she had re-
ceived at Ardmore's, Of course, but
twelve dollars week, after-noth-
ing. It seemed like riches!
Work again. A pad and pencil
!. dictation... "Yours Of the
18th received and noted be
sure it was the 18th, Miss Acker-
man, before you type it, please"
The music Of her own fingers click
Ing over the typewriter keys.
The smell Of stamps. It all seemed
incredible. Like dream from
which she must wake soon, she
kept telling herself all through
that first long morning. She would
have to wake soon. 1t was too good
to last. After yesterday, after all
the yesterdays, to find this.
She was going to like it here,
better than she had at Ardmore's,
she had decided, long before it was
lunch time. 1t was not so crowded.
Besides Barney and herself; there
were only the customers who
trickled in to see Mr.. Sanders.
There were no men clerks like Tim
j Evans back at .Ardmore's, or no
sIIArdys to bother her with their in
situations. And the work was light.
Letters, mostly.
She could write to her father to-
night, she planned, as she typed
the first batch of dictation Sanders
had given her. She had put off her
weekly letter dreading to tell him
of her change Of address. It had
been increasingly difficult to write
to him Of late, in the cheerful,
happy note she had determined to
beginning to suspect-too much.
"Are you sure you're all right,
Lona?" he had written her, anx-
iously, only last week. '"They tell
me there's a depression on. It must
be hard for a girl alone. If I could
only be sure you were all right"
The pathos of that letter had cut
her to the heart. Daddy, her daddy,
who loved life so we'll, to be shut
off from things like that. . She
would have died rather than tell
him, willingly of her plight. But
despite the hours she spent trying
to make her letters sound content
ed and prosperous, she was afraid
he was able to read between the
lines. It is hard to write convinc-
ingly Of happiness when the heart
IS black with despair. But now!
NOW there would be real news!
Happy days are here again"
she found herself humming to the
accompaniment of the clicking
keys.
II was there, too," Barney the
Office boy, informed her.
where ?"
Happy Days. Great show, wasn't
II: Say, did you notice that third
cutie from the left in the front
row of the chorus? The one with
the curly brown hair and the pretty
legs? You look just like her, Diia
know that? Thought you was her
Gnen you walked in here this