OCR Interpretation

The day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, May 18, 1914, NOON EDITION, Image 18

Image and text provided by University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL

Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83045487/1914-05-18/ed-1/seq-18/

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By Augustus Goodrich Sherwin.
(Copyright byW. GChapman.)
"We must cyt expensesat every
point," spoke Gerald Wayne. "The
same program must be followed out
at the works. Let the new conditions
.commence at once."
"Very well, sir," bowed Addison
Woods, his office manager.
Wayne looked grim and burdened,
his fine face troubled and careworn
"Yes Who Is This?"
for a young man. The ogre of busi
ness was driving him, however, and
he seemed wandering from the
smooth even path of success.
For over a year there had Deen an
inexplicable hitch in business, losses
hard to trace, a -yearly summing up
with the balance on the wrong side
of the ledger
He had left everything in a maua-
gencal way to Woods, trusting re-J
liantly to him. He had actually felt
sorry, when in the rush months
Woods tirelessly, uncomplainingly re
mained working at the office many a
time till clear after midnight.
Where was thcleak? The books
were amazingly correct. The works
were under competent management,
yet there was a deficit in profit and
in the volume of business done.
So one morning Wayne started out
to put in operation a new system of
economy. Addison Woods smiled
covertly after his departure. He was
very matter-of-fact when Wayne re
turned from the factory.
"I have cut out; the office expenses
forty per cent, Mr. Wayne," he an
nounced. "There were four sub
clerks who could be spared, two
stenographers, and a cut on, our sta
tionery supplies. By the way, too, I
have sub-let the rear office. It was
not much use for us except as a
"Very good," commended Wayne,
and he took, a casual glance in at a
dainty industrious figure bent over a
neat table covered with pens, colored
inks and brushes.
"Who is she?" he inquired, might
ily attracted by the sweet face bent
over her work.
"A Miss Eleanor Wharton. Works
for a fashionable stationer, I believe.
Fills in wedding cards and decorates.
She is quiet, orderly and minds her
own business."
A month went by and late one
afternoon Wayne, passing the door of
the rear room was arrested by the
echo of a Saint sob. He stepped over
the threshold to find Miss Wharton
with her face buried in her hands.
She was crying, but strove to hide her
emotion as Wayne, rather wonder
ingly, approached her.
"You seem troubled," he said, with
the usual frank earnestness of his
sterling nature.
"I I have been greatly disappoint
ed," fluttered the young girl," I am
afraid I shall have to give up the of
fice, sir,T
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