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 gone into the offices without even that three weeks' training. The cousin of the wife of the head of the firm knew of some woman of "very good family" whose supporting man was now enlisted and who must therefore earn her own living. Or some other woman was specially recommended as needing work. And there was another method of selection: "She had such nice manners and she was such a pretty little thing I liked her at once, don't you know."

'Um, yes, I do know. Somewhere in America once there was an editorial chief who said to me, his assistant, "Now I need a secretary. There'll be some here to-day to answer my advertisement. Won't you see them and let me know about their qualifications." There were, as I remember, some fourteen of them, grey haired and experienced ones, technically expert and highly recommended ones, college trained ones, and one was a dimpled little thing with pink cheeks and eyes of baby blue. My detailed report was quite superfluous. Through the open door, as I entered his office, the chief had one glance: "That one," he said eagerly, "that little peach at the end of the row. She's the one I want."

Like that, little peaches are getting picked in all languages. And after them are the others fresh from the gardens where the rose trees grow. And among these ornamental companions of her employer's selection, the really useful employé who gets in, finds herself at a disadvantage. The little peach