looked up expectantly. Emma Lou noticed the powdered smoothness of their fair skins and the marcelled waviness of their shingled brown hair. Were they sisters? Hardly, for their features were in no way similar. Yet that skin color and that brown hair.
“Can I do something for you?” The idle one spoke, and the other ceased her peck-peck-pecking on the typewriter keys. Emma Lou was buoyant.
“I’m from Mrs. Blake’s employment agency.”
“Oh,” from both. And they exchanged glances. Emma Lou thought she saw a quickly suppressed smile from the fairer of the two as she hastily re- sumed her typing. Then
“Sit down a moment, won’t you, please? Mr. Angus is out but I’ll inform Mr. Brown that you are here.” She picked a powder puff from an open side drawer in her desk, patted her nose and cheeks, then got up and crossed the office to enter cubby hole number one. Emma Lou observed that she, too, looked “pert” in a trim, blue suit and high-heeled patent leather oxfords
“Mr. Brown?” She had opened the door.
“Come in Grace. What is it?” The door was closed.
Emma Lou felt nervous. Something in the pit of her stomach seemed to flutter. Her pulse raced. Her
