was beautiful. She did not look or dress like a secretary. Her simple clothes and hair were most pleasant to see. And this morning her face shone with a gentle light. Her eyes were bright and full of dreams.
Pitcher noticed this. He also noticed a difference in her ways this morning. She usually went straight into her office. Today she stayed near Mr. Maxwell's desk. But he did not notice her. As soon as he sat down at the desk, Maxwell became a machine. At last he saw her. "Well, what is it?" he asked sharply. His cold grey eyes looked at her. He wanted to get on with his work.
"Nothing," said the secretary. She moved away with a little smile. "Mr. Pitcher," she said to the clerk. "Did Mr. Maxwell say anything about the agency yesterday?"
"About getting another secretary, Miss Leslie? Yes, he did. He told me to telephone the agency. I did. I told them to send me a secretary this morning. But it's a quarter to ten now, and no one has arrived yet."
"I will just continue my work then," said the secretary. "Just until the new secretary arrives." She went into her office. She hung up her hat and started to work.
Perhaps you have never seen a really busy New York businessman at work. "One crowded hour of busy life," the old song says. Mr. Maxwell's hours were crowded. The minutes and seconds were fighting for a place in them.
This day was one of Harvey Maxwell's busiest days. The telephone rang all the time. He was buying, selling, arranging. Visitors came in, visitors went out. The clerks in the office flew about like leaves in a strong wind. Pitcher's usually calm face still looked very surprised.
Business was fast and fierce. Prices flew up and down and Maxwell had to follow them exactly. He moved among his business machines and telephones. He gave orders … he was in another world.
In the middle of all this, the businessman suddenly noticed a stranger. It was a young woman with a lot of bright yellow hair. She wore a large green hat and a white coat with a black collar. Pitcher came and stood at her side.
"A young lady from the agency, sir," he said. "About the job." Maxwell turned round in his big chair. His hands were full of papers.
"What job?" he asked.
"The job of secretary, sir," said Pitcher. "You asked me to call the agency yesterday. You wanted to hire a new secretary this morning."
"Pitcher, you are going mad," said the businessman. "I do not need a new secretary. Miss Leslie has been with us for a year. I am very pleased with her. She is a very good secretary. Madam," he said to the young woman. "I am sorry. There is no job here." He turned to Pitcher. "Tell the agency that you made a mistake. Don't bring any more secretaries in here."
The young woman left the office. There was an angry look on her face under the large hat.
"Oh dear," thought Pitcher. "The boss has forgotten!" Business continued. Orders to buy and sell flew about like birds. Maxwell still worked like a machine. He worked quickly and exactly. This was the world of business and money. There was no time for feelings.
At one o'clock the clerks went out to get something to eat. The office was a little calmer. Maxwell did not go out. Businessmen do not have time to eat in the middle of a working day. He stood by his desk. His hands were full of letters and telegrams. His pen was behind his ear. His hair hung untidily all over his face.
The window of his office was open. Spring was coming to the city. Through the window came the soft, sweet smell of spring flowers. For a second Maxwell stood still. He knew that scent. His secretary always wore it. The scent brought Miss Leslie into Maxwell's busy thoughts. Suddenly the world of business appeared very unimportant. She was in the next office and he had something to say to her.
"I'll do it now," Maxwell said to himself. "Why didn't I do it long ago?" He hurried into his secretary's office. She looked up at him with a smile. Her face was pink and her eyes were honest and kind. Maxwell sat down on the edge of her desk. His hands were still full of papers. His pen was still behind his ear.
"Miss Leslie," he began. "I can't stay here long. I am very busy but I want to say something to you. Will you be my wife? I haven't had time to talk to you about love in the ordinary way but I really do love you. Answer quickly, please. I must get back to work."
"Oh, what are you talking about?" cried the secretary. She looked at him with round, surprised eyes.
"Don't you understand?" went on Maxwell. "I wanted to tell you. I waited for a long time; I was too busy before… Oh, dear. There's another telephone call for me now. Tell them to wait a minute, Pitcher… Miss Leslie, will you marry me?"
The secretary acted in a very strange way. At first she was too surprised to move or speak. Then she cried. Then she smiled, like the sun after rain. One of her arms slipped round the businessman's neck.
"I know now," she said softly. "You're so busy, dear. It really makes you forget everything, doesn't it? Harvey, have you really forgotten? We got married yesterday!"
3.2.1 Vocabulary notes
to arrange – договариваться, устраивать(ся)
fierce – жесткий
to hire – нанимать на работу
3.2.2 Answer the questions
What were Mr. Pitcher, Mr. Maxwell and Miss Leslie's jobs?
What kind of company did they work at?
Why did Mr. Pitcher's face had a look of surprise that morning?
3.3 Text 3. Read and answer the questions
Purcell was a small man. He owned a pet shop. He sold cats and dogs and monkeys, he dealt in fish food, on his shelves there were long rows of cages.
Each morning when he completed the routine of opening his shop he sat down on a high stool behind the counter and read a morning newspaper.
It was a cold rainy day. Mr. Purcell was reading a newspaper as usual, when a customer appeared in the shop.
"Good morning," Purcell said. "What can I do for you?" The customer didn't answer. He looked around the shop. It was a man with short hair, his suit was cheap and very old.
"Good morning," repeated the shopkeeper. "What do you want?"
The man looked at Purcell and answered:
"I want something in a cage."
"Something in a cage?" Mr. Purcell was a bit confused. "You mean some sort of pet?"
"I mean what I said!" answered the man.
"Something in a cage. Something alive that's in a cage."
"I see," said the shopkeeper, not sure that he did.
"Now, let me think. A white rat, perhaps? I have some very nice white rats."
"No!" said the man. "Not rats. Something with wings. Something that flies."
"A bird!" exclaimed Mr. Purcell.
"A bird is all right." Suddenly the customer pointed to the cage with two white doves.
"How much for those?" "Five-fifty," came
