I want to cut away and settle down. If
the right girl comes along, I'll marry her--"
Hadley was silent for a few moments, and, sitting lazily back in the
comfortable, deep-seated armchair, contented himself with puffing his
cigar vigorously and emitting a prodigious quantity of smoke. Finally
he said:
"All right, Bob--you know best what you want. Try matrimony, if you've
a mind to, but remember this--don't forget I gave you good warning.
Marriage isn't what it's cracked up to be, by a long shot. The girl
you're courting will seem to you a very different person after
marriage. She'll be an old-man-of-the-sea hanging around your neck
whom you can't shake off. Your trouble will only begin when you take
to yourself a wife." Rising and picking up his hat and gloves, he
added: "Now I must be going. I have an appointment at the office at
11:30. What are you going to do? Coming down town with me?"
Stafford pointed to the mass of papers and letters piled up on his
desk. Shaking his head he replied:
"No--I can't go out yet. I must answer all these letters." Helplessly
he added: "I don't know how I'm going to tackle them. I've an awful
headache."
"Why not get a stenographer?"
"A stenographer? That's not a bad idea. Where can I get one?"
"Why, downstairs. There are two attached to the hotel. They attend to
the telephone switchboard and do typewriting as well. One is a girl
with red hair and a squint; the other is dark and rather pretty--"
"Very well," smiled Stafford.
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