Gibson, the manager, was bending over
her with a glass of water in his hand, and was giving orders right and
left in an excited manner.
"Go for a doctor, some one!" he cried. "No, get an ambulance--that will
be better! The officer on the corner will call one for you. It will
never do to have her die here! The newspapers would all get it, and
goodness only knows what they would say about us."
He raised his head as he spoke and found himself face to face with the
new packer in the ribbon department. She was as white as chalk and her
eyes were flaming with anger.
"How dare you send her to a hospital when she is so ill?" she whispered,
sharply. "Get a physician here at once, sir, and a glass of wine instead
of water."
She pushed her way through the group of frightened girls and looked upon
her friend, whom she saw at once was unconscious from weakness.
"Stand back a little, girls, and give her air," she cried, firmly.
"There is none too much ventilation in this place, Mr. Gibson;
quick--lower the windows if you can, sir."
Without dreaming of disobeying, Mr. Gibson sprang to the window. There
was something so commanding in her manner that she fairly over-awed him.
The next moment he had dispatched cash girls for a doctor and some wine,
even taking the money out of his own pocket to pay for the cordial.
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