" I replied that I could do them as quickly myself.
The old man smiled. "You do not send letters in shorthand. I can take a
hundred and forty words a minute, and you can do your correspondence and
go away." The oddity of the proposal attracted me. I agreed to dictate.
The old man took out his notebook, and in ten minutes the work was done.
We came back in an hour, and by that time each letter was transcribed in
a beautiful, delicate longhand. I handed the scribe a shilling, and he
was satisfied. The Gentleman, as we called him, writes letters for
anyone who can spare him a glass of liquor or a few coppers; but I had
never tested his skill before. There was no one in the bar, so I sat
down beside the old man, and we talked.
"You seem wonderfully clever at shorthand. I am surprised that you
haven't permanent work."
"It would do me little good. I can go on for a long time, but when my
fit comes on me I am not long in losing any job. They won't have me,
friend--they won't have me."
"You've been well employed, then, in your time?"
"No one better.
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