"
"Do as I say, then!"
Mrs. Chater stopped the paddle-wheel; rose to her feet. Bob's ghastly
face drew in to safer limits. She addressed Mary: "Again my boy has
interceded for you. Oh, how you must feel!" She addressed the maids:
"Is her box packed?"
They chorused "Yes"; pointed, and Mary saw her tin box, corded, set
against the wall.
"Call a cab," Mrs. Chater commanded; and as the whistle blew she
turned again upon Mary.
"Now, miss, you may go. I pack you off as you deserve. But before you
go--"
The battered face shot out again above the banisters: "Pay her her
wages and send her away, mother. Do, for goodness' sake, send her
away!"
"Wages! Certainly not! Mercy! Your head again! Go back, Bob!"
The maddened, pain-racked Bob bellowed: "Oh, stop it! stop it! I shall
go mad in a minute. She is entitled to her wages. Pay her."
"I won't!"
"Well, I will. Susan! Susan, come up here and take this money. How
much is it?"
"She is not to be paid," Mrs. Chater trumpeted.
"She is to be paid," bawled her son. "Do you want an action brought
against you? Oh, my God, what a house this is!"
"My boy! You will fall! Very well, I'll pay her." Mrs. Chater turned
to Mary. "Again and yet again my son intercedes for you, miss. Oh, how
you must feel!" She grabbed around her dress for her pocket; found a
purse; produced coins; banged them upon the table.
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