They Came to Baghdad Read Free

quite often the case) or of an unaccountably delayed bus. It would appear preferable to Victoria to tender the mendacious explanation that she had been hindered by an escaped elephant lying across a main bus route, or by a thrilling smash-and-grab raid in which she herself had played a part to aid the police. To Victoria an agreeable world would be one where tigers lurked in the Strand and dangerous bandits infested Tooting.
    A slender girl, with an agreeable figure and first-class legs, Victoria’s features might actually have been described as plain. They were small and neat. But there was a piquancy about her, for “little indiarubber face,” as one of her admirers had named her, could twist those immobile features into a startling mimicry of almost anybody.
    It was this last-named talent that had led to her present predicament. Employed as a typist by Mr. Greenholtz of Greenholtz, Simmons and Lederbetter, of Graysholme Street, WC2, Victoria had been whiling away a dull morning by entertaining the three other typists and the office boy with a vivid performance of Mrs. Greenholtz paying a visit to her husband’s office. Secure in the knowledge that Mr. Greenholtz had gone round to his solicitors, Victoria let herself go.
    â€œWhy do you say we not have that Knole settee, Daddee?” she demanded in a high whining voice. “Mrs. Dievtakis she have one in electric blue satin. You say it is money that is tight? But then why you take that blonde girl out dining and dancing—Ah! you think I do not know—and if you take that girl—then I have a settee and all done plum-coloured and gold cushions. And when you say it is a business dinner you are a damn’ fool—yes—and come back with lipstick on your shirt. So I have the Knole settee and I order a fur cape—very nice—all like mink but not really mink and I get him very cheap and it is good business—”
    The sudden failure of her audience—at first entranced, but now suddenly resuming work with spontaneous agreement, caused Victoria to break off and swing round to where Mr. Greenholtz was standing in the doorway observing her.
    Victoria, unable to think of anything relevant to say, merely said, “Oh!”
    Mr. Greenholtz grunted.
    Flinging off his overcoat, Mr. Greenholtz proceeded to his private office and banged the door. Almost immediately his buzzer sounded, two shorts and a long. That was a summons for Victoria.
    â€œIt’s for you, Jonesey,” a colleague remarked unnecessarily, her eyes alight with the pleasure occasioned by the misfortunes of others. The other typists collaborated in this sentiment by ejaculating: “You’re for it, Jones,” and “On the mat, Jonesey.” The office boy, an unpleasant child, contented himself with drawing a forefinger across his throat and uttering a sinister noise.
    Victoria picked up her notebook and pencil and sailed into Mr. Greenholtz’s office with such assurance as she could muster.
    â€œYou want me, Mr. Greenholtz?” she murmured, fixing a limpid gaze on him.
    Mr. Greenholtz was rustling three pound notes and searching his pockets for coin of the realm.
    â€œSo there you are,” he observed. “I’ve had about enough of you, young lady. Do you see any particular reason why I shouldn’t pay you a week’s salary in lieu of notice and pack you off here and now?”
    Victoria (an orphan) had just opened her mouth to explain how the plight of a mother at this moment suffering a major operation had so demoralized her that she had become completely light-headed, and how her small salary was all the aforesaid mother had to depend upon, when, taking an opening glance at Mr. Greenholtz’s unwholesome face, she shut her mouth and changed her mind.
    â€œI couldn’t agree with you more,” she said heartily and pleasantly. “I think you’re absolutely right, if you know what I mean.”
    Mr.