Betty's Happy Year

She wore a plain, dark dress borrowed from Dorothy’s sister. Over this was a long coat, rather loose and full, of tan-colored cloth.

Her hair was drawn tightly back and done in a knot, and she wore large, dark spectacles. Already there was no resemblance left to Betty, but Mrs. McGuire added a thick, dark-brown veil, which was draped loosely over her face in old-fashioned style, and tied bunchily around her neck.

“He’ll never know you in the world, Betty!” declared Jack. “You’re just all right! Now let’s hear your voice.”

“Is this Mr. Irving?” said Betty, in such hoarse, raucous tones that they all shrieked with laughter.

“That’ll do,” said Jack, critically; “but don’t overdo it. Remember, you don’t want Grandfather to suspect you. Now come on.”

Jack and the three girls got into the carriage and were driven to Mr. Irving’s office in the city.

It was half-past two when they reached the building. “Just right time to a dot,” said Jack, looking at his watch. “Go on up, Dorothy; are you nervous?”

“Not a bit,” returned Dorothy, smiling, as she left the carriage. “Be sure to send the others in time.”

“Trust me!” said Jack, and Dorothy entered the big building and went up in the elevator.

She went to Mr. Irving’s offices, and was admitted by a clerk, who said Mr. Irving was in his private office, and asked the visitor’s name.

“No name is necessary,” said Dorothy, in very grown-up tones. “I am expected.”

She walked past the clerk and into the inner office. Mr. Irving looked at her in perplexity as she entered.

“Miss Frances Arundel,” said Dorothy, looking a little shy, as she approached the desk. “Didn’t you get my note?”

“Oh – ’m – yes,” said Mr. Irving, hastily turning over some notes and letters before him.

“I am a bit early,” went on Dorothy; “I wrote I would be here at three o’clock, but I was so anxious to secure a position, I came earlier. Can you employ me, sir?”

She looked imploringly at Mr. Irving, who, to tell the truth, had quite forgotten the note he had received an hour or so before. He had read it hastily and intended, when the writer came, to turn her over to his clerk; but Dorothy’s earnest face arrested his attention, and he paused as he was about to ring the bell for his attendant.

“You speak of Roger Arundel,” he said, glancing at the note he held in his hand. “I never knew any one by that name.”

“You didn’t, sir?” Dorothy exclaimed, looking greatly surprised. “Why, wasn’t he in your class at college?”

“No, he was not,” said Mr. Irving, decidedly. “What college did he attend?”

“I don’t know,” faltered Dorothy, “but – it must have been some other William Irving, then. But, please, can’t you find me some employment? I am greatly in need of it!”

Mr. Irving looked at the agitated girl, and felt sorry for her.

“What can you do?” he said, not unkindly. “Have you had any experience in clerical work?”

“Clerical work?” said Dorothy, opening her eyes. “Do you mean church work? I belong to the Sunday-school.”

It chanced that Dorothy had never heard the word “clerical” used before, and she imagined it referred to the clergy.

Mr. Irving bit his lips to keep from smiling.

“I mean office work,” he said; “have you ever been in an office?”

“Oh, no, sir; you see, we just lost our money lately. But I’m sure I could learn.”

“Are you a stenographer? Can you type-write?”

“No, not either. But I can write a good hand, and I’m quick at figures. Couldn’t I copy letters for you? I’m very tidy about my papers.”

“H’m, well, we don’t have our letters copied by hand. I’m afraid, Miss Arundel, I can’t give you a position.”

“Oh, please, sir,” – Dorothy’s lip quivered a little, – “we’re quite poor. Mother tried to take in sewing, but she’s ill now, and – and I’m the only support of the family. Do let me address envelopes or something!”

Mr. Irving was very much embarrassed. He had never had an experience just like this before. Clearly, the girl was a refined little gentlewoman, and all unused to the business world.

He judged her to be about eighteen or twenty, and wondered what he could do for her.

He looked over the letter again.

“You say your great-uncle spoke of me? Where is your uncle now?”

“He’s – he’s not living, sir,” said Dorothy, looking down. “And I’m sure you’re the Mr. Irving he meant, because he said you were so kind-hearted.”

Naturally this touched the old gentleman’s heart, and he truly wanted to help the girl. But in his office he employed only skilled workers, and there was no place for Dorothy.

“Bless my soul, child,” he exclaimed, “I don’t know what to do with you! Arundel – Roger Arundel. No, he was not in my class, but he may have been in the college while I was there. However, I’d be glad to help you if I could, – but I can’t think of a thing for you to do.”

“No?” said Dorothy, but with a hopeful inflection in her tone, as if perhaps he might yet think of something.

“You see,” she went on, “I simply must get work. So of course I came here first, I felt so sure you’d help me if you could.”

“Yes – yes; of course. Now, let me see – let me see. You say you’re good at figures?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, suppose you try adding up these columns.”

Mr. Irving took down a book of accounts, and opened it at random.

“Here now, here now,” he said, “don’t put your figures on the page; they may be wrong. Add these columns on a separate sheet of paper – so – and let me think what I can do for you.”

Dorothy took the pad of paper and the pencil he gave her, and going to a seat at a side-table, she began to add. So excited was she over the way the plan was working, she could scarcely see the figures at all, but she added away industriously, now and then peeping at Mr. Irving.

He was intently studying the note, and occasionally he would look off into space, as if trying to recall Mr. Roger Arundel!

In a few moments the door opened, and the office boy said: “A lady to see you, sir.”

“What name?” said Mr. Irving.

“Here it is, sir; she just wrote it on this paper.”