Mr. Lewis went back to paging through my notebook. “So, Miss Grey, do you take shorthand? I mean, is this yours?”
“Yes, Mr. Lewis.”
“Where did you learn?”
“I taught myself.”
“How fast do you type?”
“120 words a minute.”
He scanned my desk, dug through some carbons, checked one. “Had any college?”
“No sir.”
“You graduate from High School?”
“Yes sir.”
“How long have you been here?” I told him.
“How much does Barney pay you?” I told him.
“How’d you like to move to Seattle and work for me? I’ll give you a twenty-percent raise.”
“No, thank you, sir.”
“That was awfully fast. Why not?”
“Well, sir. I live at home. I don’t have to pay rent. If I move to Seattle…”
“All right, all right. I’ll bump it to forty percent. That should cover the cost of a modest apartment for a young lady.”
