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Updated: May 28, 2025
They were alone, the outer office deserted, and the Ditmar she saw now, whom she had summoned up with ridiculous ease by virtue of that mysterious power within her, was no longer the agent of the Chippering Mill, a boy filled with enthusiasm by a business achievement, but a man, the incarnation and expression of masculine desire desire for her.
They blocked the traffic, halted the clanging trolleys, surged into the mouth of West Street, booing and cursing at the soldiers whose threatening line of bayonets stretched across that thoroughfare half-way down toward the canal, guarding the detested Chippering Mill.
When the last agent that was Cort was sacked I went to Boston on my own hook and tackled the old gentleman that's the only way to get anywhere. I couldn't bear to see the mill going to scrap, and I told him a thing or two, I had the facts and the figures. Stephen Chippering was a big man, but he had a streak of obstinacy in him, he was conservative, you bet.
Janet, in the main stream sweeping irresistibly down the middle of the street, was carried beyond the lumberyard into the narrow roadway beside the canal presently to find herself packed in the congested mass in front of the bridge that led to the gates of the Chippering Mill.
The daughter of a defunct cashier of the Hampton National Bank, when she had married Ditmar, then one of the superintendents of the Chippering and already a marked man, she had deemed herself fortunate among women, looking forward to a life of ease and idleness and candy in great abundance, a dream temporarily shattered by the unforeseen discomfort of bringing two children into the world, with an interval of scarcely a year between them.
She asked Janet's name, volunteering the information that her own was Gemma, that she was a "fine speeder" in the Chippering Mill, where she had received nearly seven dollars a week. She had been among the first to walk out. "Why did you walk out?" asked Janet curiously. "Why? I get mad when I know that my wages is cut. I want the money I get married."
"Listen; `One of the most notable figures in the Textile industry of the United States, Claude Ditmar, Agent of the Chippering Mill." Caldwell spread out the page and pointed to a picture. "There he is, as large as life." A little larger than life, Janet thought.
Janet, in the main stream sweeping irresistibly down the middle of the street, was carried beyond the lumberyard into the narrow roadway beside the canal presently to find herself packed in the congested mass in front of the bridge that led to the gates of the Chippering Mill.
Despondency grew in her, a sense of isolation, of lacking any one, now, to whom she might turn, and these feelings were intensified by the air of confidence prevailing here. The strike was crushed, injustice and wrong had triumphed would always triumph. In front of the Banner office she heard a man say to an acquaintance who had evidently just arrived in town: "The Chippering?
"I'm not really hungry, but I haven't time to get back to Hampton for dinner." Suddenly she grew hot at the thought that he might suspect her of hinting. "You see, I live in Hampton," she went on hurriedly, "I'm a stenographer there, in the Chippering Mill, and I was just out for a walk, and I came farther than I intended." She had made it worse.
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