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"You've been working pretty hard yourself."
"I enjoy it. Really, I do."
"Yes, you do." His tone was suddenly serious. "Maybe that explains it. Maybe that's the reason — "
"Explains — what?" I asked him.
"The way we work," he answered. "When we're together it's — it's almost like a team. I seem to get more done, it seems to go better. Somehow I can't understand — "
I was thinking of Miss Damon, his regular secretary. She had been his father's secretary before him, and she was tall and stately and she thought she knew more about the business than anyone else. No, she wouldn't understand Mr. McAllister, wouldn't understand a young man with a dream —
"Maybe," I said, "it's because we're each in our own way looking to the future. Maybe because of what we're hoping for tomorrow — "
"You know," he said, "you may be right. Each of us doing our part in this hodge-podge of a world. Each of us joined in this struggle for decency."
"Each of us waiting — hoping— for a new tomorrow," I echoed him.
I STOOD there watching him, mo*■ tionless. an odd sense of terror in my breast. I was afraid, afraid of spoiling this moment, this intimate sharing of ideas. Afraid I might say the wrong thing, the way I almost always did when the talk got too far from business, from typewriters and Dr. Gregg's shorthand.
"I think," I said, haltingly, "it's getting late and — I'll have these letters to do, first thing in the morning—"
He nodded. "Yes. Yes, of course." He watched me as I gathered up pencils and notebook. "Yes, I think you're right, Miss Prim. I think we — make a good working team."
"I'm glad. I'm — very glad — "
You see, that's all it was. Yet when I reached my room that night, I went over in my mind everything we'd said, remembering every word of it, reaching out to catch again that sense of intimacy between us, as if we were the only two people in the world.
That was the start, that night. Because after that, I stayed late often to work for him. Even when Miss
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APRIL, 1943
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