"I mean to. Miss Copeland wouldn't have a fluffy, frilly teacher in her
school--and I don't blame her. It's difficult enough to train fluffy,
frilly girls to like simplicity, even if one's self is a model of
plainness and repose."
"And you're truly glad to go back, after this lovely vacation? Shouldn't
you sort of like to keep on typing for Uncle Calvin, with Mr. Richard
Kendrick sitting close by, looking at you over the top of his book?"
Roberta wheeled, answering with vehemence: "I should say not, you
romantic infant! When I work I want to work with workers, not with
drones! A person who can only dawdle over his task is of no use at all.
How Uncle Calvin gets on with a mere imitation of a secretary, I can't
possibly see. Why, Ted himself could cover more ground in a morning!"
"I don't think you do him justice," Ruth objected, with all the dignity
of her sixteen years in evidence. "Of course he couldn't work as well
with you in the room--he isn't used to it. And you are--you certainly
are, awfully nice to look at, Rob."
"Nonsense! It's lucky you're going back to school yourself, child, to
get these sentimental notions out of your head.
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