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Updated: May 21, 2025
Una arose at six-thirty next morning, to dress the part of the great business woman, and before she went to the office she had her hair waved. Mr. Bob Sidney called for her. He was a simple, energetic soul, with a derby on the back of his head, cheerful, clean-shaven, large-chinned, hoarse-voiced, rapidly revolving a chewed cigar. She, the commonplace, was highly evolved in comparison with Mr.
Her shoes were run down over twisted high heels, and were strangers to polish. Her hat would scarcely have passed into a flour barrel. The "Family Entrance" of the Blue Jay Cafe received her. At a table she sat, and punched the button with the air of milady ringing for her carriage. The waiter came with his large-chinned, low-voiced manner of respectful familiarity.
Yet shocked he certainly was, for the transformation was so complete that it suddenly revealed to him something of the depth of degradation to which he might fall to which many a man as good as himself, if not better, had fallen. Then amusement rose within him, for he was the very beau-ideal of a typical burglar, or a prize-fighter: big, square-shouldered, deep-chested, large-chinned.
When there were rumors of "a change," of "a cut-down in the force," every person on the office floor watched the chiefs as they assembled to go out to lunch together big, florid, shaven, large-chinned men, talking easily, healthy from motoring and golf, able in a moment's conference at lunch to "shift the policy" and to bring instant poverty to the families of forty clerks or four hundred workmen in the shops.
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