Madame Storey's Way

I can not better put that extraordinary woman, my employer, before you

than by describing my first meeting with her. It is easier to show her

qualities in action than to describe them.

On a certain morning, no different from thousands of other mornings, I

was in a train on my way to the office when eye was caught by this

striking advertisement:

WANTED--By a woman of affairs, a woman secretary; common sense is the

prime requisite.

Printed words have an extraordinary effect on one sometimes. Something

in these terse phrases so strongly appealed to me that though I had a

very good position at the time, I interrupted my journey to the office

and went directly to the address given.

It was on Gramercy Square. The house proved to be one of the fine old

dwellings down there that have been altered into chic more-orless-studio

apartments. Bridal couples of the old Knickerbocker set are fond of

setting up in that neighborhood, I am told. As I approached other

females were converging at the door from three directions. The hall-boy,

a typical New York specimen, looked us over with a grin, and without

asking our business said:

"Madame Storey ain't down yet. Youse is all to wait in the little front

room."

I asked him privately what was Madame Storey's business.

"Search me!" he said cheekily. "She don't hang out no sign."

Her apartment was the first floor front; part of the parlor floor of the

old mansion. It was evidently only an office, but such an office! The

walls were hung with priceless tapestries, there was an Italian

Renaissance table for the secretary, ditto chairs for the clients, and

here and there a bit of Chinese porcelain to make a vivid spot of color.

I confess I looked a little dubiously at all this magnificence; somehow

it didn't seem quite respectable. All the time I was wondering what

Madame Storey's affairs consisted of.