"Hi! Hold that pose!" called Von Herman, happily.
[Illustration: "'Hi! Hold that pose!' called Von Herman"]
II
PERSONALITY PLUS
There are seven stages in the evolution of that individual whose
appearance is the signal for a listless "Who-do-you-want-to-see?"
from the white-bloused, drab-haired, anaemic little girl who sits
in the outer office forever reading last month's magazines. The
badge of fear brands the novice. Standing hat in hand, nervous,
apprehensive, gulpy, with the elevator door clanging behind him,
and the sacred inner door closed before him, he offers up a silent
and paradoxical "Thank heaven!" at the office girl's languid "Not
in," and dives into the friendly shelter of the next elevator
going down. When, at that same message, he can smile, as with a
certain grim agreeableness he says, "I'll wait," then has he
reached the seventh stage, and taken the orders of the regularly
ordained.
Jock McChesney had learned to judge an unknown prospective by
glancing at his hall rug and stenographer, which marks the fifth
stage. He had learned to regard office boys with something less
than white-hot hate. He had learned to let the other fellow do the
talking. He had learned to condense a written report into
twenty-five words.
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