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you could tell because I look diflFerent. New York girls look so sophisticated."
    "Mary Agnes?" Caroline said, smiling. "Brenda?"
    "No . . . not them. But you do. You're my idea of what a New York girl should look like."
    "Well, thank you," Caroline said. "I take it that's a compliment?"
    "Oh, it is," April said. "It is."
    They paid their checks and rode upstairs together in the elevator. "Are you doing anything tomorrow after work?" Caroline asked her.
    "I don't think so."
    "Well, maybe we could have supper together somewhere and go to a movie. Would you want to?"

    Td love it!"
    "Okay. We will, then. See you.**
    April went into Mr. Shalimar's empty office, shut the door, kicked off her shoes, and did a pirouette on the soft rug. She was very happy. She took her mirror out of her purse, and with the other hand held her hair off her neck, turning her head this way and that. How come she had never noticed before that she looked like a woolly bear? And there was something queer-looking about her suit. Her mother had always said that girls with blue eyes should wear pale blue, and that black was for funerals and old ladies. Well, she didn't feel a bit funereal, she felt marvelous, and tonight when Mr. Shali-mar gave her supper money she was going to use it to go to the beauty parlor. And on Friday when she got paid she was going to buy a black suit just like Caroline's.
    Mr. Shalimar wouldn't even recognize her in a couple of days. Her heart began to pound. Wasn't she lucky? She was lucky, all right. She took his ash tray out to the wastebasket in the hall and emptied it, and washed it out in the water fountain. It wasn't until she noticed Mary Agnes' shocked face that she realized she had forgotten to put on her shoes.
    Dark comes quickly in January, and at five o'clock when the girls in the bullpen began to cover their typewriters and tie on their kerchiefs the sky outside was already black. Mr. Shalimar was dictating the second page of the monthly report which was to be ten pages long. He had allowed April to sit on his sofa while he dictated, and she was perched there with her shoes off again and her legs curled under her, putting down his words with rapid, sure strokes. She had always hated shorthand in school, but right now she was so grateful she had learned it that she almost enjoyed it. She could see that he was pleased because he never had to pause for her to catch up. Over the sound of his voice she dimly heard the noises of departure outside, the clicking of high heels and the called goodbyes. Soon there was a different sound, the sound of utter quiet. She stood up to get a sharper pencil.
    "We can stop for a minute," he said. "You must be tired."
    "Oh, no, I'm not tired."
    "Where are we? Halfway through?"
    "Almost."
    "Are you hungry yet?"

    "No, sir."
    He bent down and took a bottle of Scotch from the bottom drawer of his desk, and a nest of small metal cups. He separated two of the cups and poured Scotch into both of them. "Like a Httle drink?"
    She had never tasted anything stronger than a mixed drink in her life. "I wouldn't want to waste it," she said timidly.
    He poured half of hers back into the bottle. "Here," he said, holding the rest out to her.
    Who would ever believe it? she thought. Here she was, so tongue-tied she couldn't think of a thing to say, drinking Scotch in the office with the editor-in-chief of Derby Books. This didn't really look like an office; it looked more like the den of a luxurious home, the kind you see in the movies.
    "Luck," Mr. Shalimar said briskly, and tossed off his drink in one swallow. He poured some water from his carafe and drank it, not even looking at her. Well, maybe they weren't exactly socializing, but she was present, and that was something. She tasted her Scotch gingerly and forced downi a few sips, feeling the warmth travel down her throat.
    Mr. Shalimar poured himself another drink and looked at her for the first time, "Want some water in it?"
    "I guess so." She let