hold a single desk and two chairs. On the desk were a telephone and a microphone. Beside them was a double-decked "In" and "Out"
basket. "Here's where you'll do your nine-to-five, honey," Mr. Wanji said. "What will I be doing, Mr. Wanji?" Orison asked. T
he Vice-President pointed to the newspaper folded in the "In" basket. "Flip on the microphone and read the paper to it," he said
. "When you get done reading the paper, someone will run you up something new to read. Okay?" "It seems a rather peculiar job,"
Orison said. "After all, I'm a secretary. Is reading the newspaper aloud supposed to familiarize me with the Bank's operation?" "Don't bug me, kid," Mr. Wanji said. "All you gotta do is read t
hat there paper into this here microphone. Can do?" "Yes, sir," Orison said. "While you're here, Mr. Wanji, I'd like to ask you about my withholding tax, social security, cr
edit union, coffee-breaks, union membership, lunch hour and the like. Shall we take care of these details now? Or would you—" "You just take care of that chicken-flickin' kinda stuff any way seems best to you, ki
. This l
aissez-faire policy of Taft Bank's might explain why s
he'd been selected from the Treasury Department's secret
arial pool to apply for work here, she thought. Orison McCall, girl Government spy. She picked up the newspaper from the "In" basket, unfolded it to discover the day's Wa