Evening Republican, Volume 18, Number 180, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 August 1914 — HER MANY CONQUESTS [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

HER MANY CONQUESTS

By CLARA MORTON.

The little stenographer stood at the door, looking dubiously at the descending elevator. Then, with a deep sigh and a solemn expression, she turned and pushed open the little gate? "Ah —am I just—awfully attractive — when you don’t know me very well?” she inquired seriously of the bookkeeper, her brow wrinkled in perplexity. "I tell you—it’s that plaid skirt!” he exclaimed, turning wondering eyes upon the broad bars and stripes. “It’s a perfect magnet for eyes. But who’s been troubling you?” He frowned with with an effect df extreme (ferocity. "No, it’s not that. They can admire my skirt all they want, if they’d only be still'about it! But it’s lots different from that!" She sank dismally into her chair and rocked back and forth, deriving comfort from the squeaks it emitted. ‘Tve tried to be nice,” she said reminiscently. “But I didn’t try to be especially nice, I know I didn’t. I don’t believe I was more than just natural! Do I have to turn into a perfect sphinx—or into a prim old maid, to be comfortable?” x "You’ve got me,” admitted the bookkeeper. "Now, if you’ll just give me, say, three clues —or maybe a good hint, I’ll see if I can guess, that is, if it’s a riddle.” He waited invitingly. “Honestly—l’m serious!” insisted the little stenographer. "I may have to quit if it gets worse, though I don't know how it could!” She seemed very woebegone. “What’s really up?" asked the bookkeeper sympathetically. “Is it. wrong to smile —at towel boys and elevator men and window —and even messenger boys!” The question ended in an impetuous exclamation. “Not if you like to,” declared the bookkeeper, judiciously. "Well, the towel boy, one day he asked me what my first name was. And was hurt because I wouldn’t tell! And the nicest of all, the messenger boy, the one that I always wanted to call, and the one that I thought was about fourteen, he took hold of my hand with the message the other day and wouldn’t let go. Oh, it was dreadful —though I’d never said anything to him but good morning or some such thing! “And —and,” the little stenographer flushed, "the janitor winked at me yesterday when I smiled at him!”, “Wait till I see him —•” said the bookkeeper. "But that’s 1 hot all,” she broke in, “for when the men were painting here —l’d seen them around the hall for years, and never thought anything of smiling in a friendly way at them. just

to show that I wasn’t a snob—one of them said of me: ’That’s my girl.' And they both laughed. Oh, it was awful! One of them kept doming back Into the office for brushes, and every time he’d say that it was just once more to see me! I kept still about it, for I was ashamed! "But the watchman stopped me in the hall this morning and asked where I lived, because he wished I lived near his’ house, for he had a fine phonograph! "While I was all wilted through and through I got In the elevator, and it Was empty. I unconsciously smiled at the man and agreed that It was nice weather, and he. said yes, fine for the show. And then and there he asked me to go to a show with him! I didn’t know what to say! I don’t like to hurt him. He seemed a nice sort of good natured boy—but,' oh —”, she paused. "Well, it's not so bad," comforted the bookkeeper. "Oh, but—’’ she blushed. "Jack happened to be waiting downstairs when the man called after me to think It over and try to go!" The bookkeeper whistled softly. "Oh, I see!" he said, with understanding.—Chicago Dally News.

“Asked Me to Go to a Show.”