“You’re right, she is,” replied Leopold, “She’s both pretty and smart.  She has a beautiful voice and writes a hand that looks like copperplate.  She’s a first-class proof reader and a perfect walking dictionary on spelling, definitions, and dates.  They treat her mighty shabby on pay, though.  She’s a woman, so they gave her six dollars a week.  If she were a man they’d give her twenty, and think themselves lucky.  I’ll run over and see if she is at home.  At what time could she go down with you to-morrow?” he asked.

“I’ll come after her at nine o’clock.  Tell her Miss Pettengill will give her eight dollars a week, with board and lodging free.”

“All right,” cried Leopold, “that’s business.  While I’m gone just see how pretty those stories look in cold type.  I’ve been all through them myself just for practice.”

Leopold dashed out of the room and Quincy took up the proofs of the story, Was It Signed?  He became so absorbed in its perusal that Leopold pulled it out of his hand in order to attract his attention.

“It’s all right,” he said.  “She’s delighted at the idea of going.  She thinks the change will do her good.  She can’t build up very fast in a little back room, up three flights.”

“What’s her name?” asked Quincy.

“Oh!  I forgot,” replied Leopold.  “I’ll write her name and address down for you.  There it is,” said he, as he passed it to Quincy.  “Her first name is Rosa, and that’s all right.  She’s of French-Canadian descent, and her last name is one of those jawbreakers that no American can pronounce.  It sounded something like Avery, so she called herself at first Rosa Avery; then the two A’s caused trouble, for everybody thought she said Rose Avery.  Being a proof reader,” continued Leopold, “she is very sensitive, so while the name Rosa satisfied her inmost soul, the name Rose jarred upon her sensibilities.  Thus another change became necessary, and she is now known, and probably will continue to be known, as Miss Rosa Very, until she makes up her mind to change it again.”

“I’m greatly obliged, Leopold,” said Quincy, making the proofs into a flat parcel and putting them into his inside overcoat pocket.

“Don’t mention it, old fellow,” remarked Leopold.  “You may be the means of supplying me with an assistant some day.  If you should, don’t fail to call my attention to it.”

Aunt Ella was at dinner when Quincy arrived.  She sent word up by Buttons for Quincy to come down to the dining-room at once.  She was alone in the room when he entered.

“Just in time,” said he, “and I’m hungry as a bear.”

“That’s a good boy; sit down and help me out,” said his aunt.  “These extravagant servants of mine cook ten times as much as I can possibly eat.”

“I don’t imagine it is wasted,” replied Quincy.

“I think not,” said Aunt Ella, with a laugh; “for, judging from the extra plentiful supply, they probably have a kitchen party in view for this evening.  But what keeps you away from Eastborough over night?”