Typist in the Tropics

By One of Them

IN such an enviable position you just know you’re in for a good time.

You stroll into your office at nine o’clock, if vou don’t happen to have over slept that morning, and sit down quietly for ten minutes. It’s so hot and you must have time to get cool.

Then your boss wakes from the heavy doze he’d fallen into when he sat down in his chair half an hour ago. Presently, a languid voice bids you enter his office, together with notebook. You are nearly blown out again by the immense yawn with which you are greeted; but, collect ing yourself, you flop down in a chair, pencil poised.

Dictation begins. Pretty soon your boss’s voice, which had begun quite strongly, becomes slower. Another yawn, and he stops altogether to drink thirstily.

Then, petulantly pushing away the file he was'working on, he picks up the phone.

Looking over his shoulder at you, he indicates that he’ll call you in again later 01 So off you go with a half-dictated letter, and either sleep for an interval, or read the greater part of “Gone With the Wind.”

Snatches of telephone conversation reach you from the office you’d left.

“ . . . yes, kept very busy (yawn) . . . done so much dictation I can scarcely His voice becomes much brisker sud denly. “Did you sav a drink? Oh, boy!

I’ll be right with you.”

In less than a minute you find your boss standing in front of you. “Look here, Miss Typist,” he says, “I find I must take a quick trip into town—er-um

—urgent business I must see to. I’ll be back in next to no time and then we’ll get together again on those letters.”

His voice trails off as he vanishes quickly through the door.

In an hour’s time he’s back again.

What time you are awakened from your snooze by his voice saying “Ah, here’s tea —don’t bother to come in till you’ve quite finished your tea, Miss Typist.”

Of course, you’re ready for a cup of strong sweet tea and spend an ap preciative time munching your cake and talking to the rest of the staff in the office tea-room.

Finally, vou all disperse and all the men sit down for an unhurried smoke and all the girls freshen up their make- UP Then off for some dictation. You walk in a little guiltily—after all it’s quite some time since you first entered the tea room.

But your boss is not quite ready for you—he’s busy drinking his after-tea cup of Yoqona. “You have been quick!” he exclaims on seeing you, “but, look here,” consulting his watch, “it’s very nearly lunch-time. Good egg! I’m starving, positively starving. We’ll do some more work this afternoon.”

BACK to the office at 2 o’clock. No one is there yet. By half past two, dribs and drabs of the staff are in position. Three o’clock, your boss drifts in looking very cool. “Overslept myself again,” he murmurs. “Am I in time for afternoon tea? My word, isn’t it hot?”

When you’ve finished your afternoon tea you walk into his office with your notebook, ready to hurl it at him if he’s asleep. But he’s awake and manages to dictate another word or so before a visitor is shown in.

Much later still you return. Your boss

says, kindly: “Oh, that’s all right, Miss Typist. You can go now, it’s just on four. We’ll see if we can finish that letter to-morrow. I’ve been so busy to day I’m just about falling asleep in my chair. My, isn’t it hot?”

Off you go home, fresh as a daisy.