"
There was another silence more oppressive than the first; then Mr. Day
rose slowly and started to leave the office.
"We are exciting ourselves foolishly, I think," he said loftily;
"neither you nor I, my partners, can hope to remedy the conditions of
labor."
He closed the door softly, and was free from the unpleasant atmosphere
of the office.
As he did so, a young girl stepped out of the elevator and walked
directly to the door which he had just closed behind him. He turned and
looked at her--she was as a saint. Almost instinctively it came to him
what his partner had said, that she was "not afraid of work and was
honestly religious."
"Pshaw! What nonsense!" he muttered. "Think of our patterning after a
saint! It is strange how death will upset some men, but they'll get over
it when they hear the money jingling!"
He opened the door to his private office just as a boy came upstairs
with a message from Mr. Gibson.
"Mr. Watkins was taken to the hospital last night," it read; "are we
expected to do anything? There's a reporter from the _Herald_."
"I'll send down the answer in a moment," he said to the boy, "or, wait;
tell Mr. Gibson to say that we are looking into the case, and if our
employee is found to be deserving he will be cared for by the firm.
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