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Updated: May 12, 2025
"Rubbish!" snorted Miss Sugg. "What're givin' me? It's a fine day." "Yes," said Winifred timidly, "but unfortunately I stopped a while on Riverside Drive to watch the police bringing in the boat from which Mr. Tower was mur pulled into the river last night." "Riverside Drive!" snapped the forewoman. "Your address is East One Hundred and Twelfth Street, ain't it?
Oh, yes, deadly still for a long minute's interval, and then out of the nowhere ahead, with a suddenness which each time caused his weakened nerves to vibrate like fiddle strings, would burst the bellow of the great foghorn. Silence, the splash and "sugg" of Galusha's sodden shoes moving up and down, up and down and then: "OW ooo ooo -ooo OOO!!"
She can pull out a bit and make up for it." Miss Sugg wheeled wrathfully to find Mr. Fowle, manager on that floor, gazing at Winifred with marked approval. Fowle, a shifty-eyed man of thirty, compactly built, and somewhat of a dandy, seldom gave heed to any of the girls employed by Brown, Son & Brown. His benevolent attitude toward Winifred was a new departure. "Young lady!" gasped the forewoman.
Two people evidently took this view of her as she advanced into the workroom after hanging up her hat and coat. "You're late again, Bartlett," snapped Miss Agatha Sugg, a forewoman, whose initials suggested an obvious nickname among the set of flippant girls she ruled with a severity that was also ungracious. "I'll not speak to you any more on the matter. Next time you'll be fired. See?"
Winifred's high color fled before this dire threat. Even the few dollars a week she earned by binding books was essential to the up-keep of her home. At any rate this fact was dinned into her ears constantly, and formed a ready argument against any change of employment. "I'm sorry, Miss Sugg," she stammered. "I didn't think I had lost any time. Indeed, I started out earlier than usual."
Winifred gave more attention to the newspaper report than to her frugal meal. Resolving, however, that Miss Sugg should have no further cause for complaint that day, she returned to the factory five minutes before time. An automobile was standing outside the entrance, but she paid no heed to it. The checker tapped at his little window as she passed. "The boss wants you," he said. "Me!" she cried.
It's mighty down-settin' on one's pride, which I had a heap of afore I was sent to abide there." "Who are you and what are you driving at?" Mrs. Scarlet asked the question with a puzzled stare. She was possessed of a very suspicious nature, and she was not ready to accept a person on outward appearance alone. "I'm William Sugg, from Missoury," the old man answered promptly.
Neither Miss Sugg nor Mr. Fowle spoke to her, but Winifred thought she saw a malicious smile on the forewoman's face. The hours passed wearily until six o'clock. She was about to quit the building with her companions many of whom meant bombarding her with questions at the first opportunity when she was again requested to report at the office. A clerk handed her one of the firm's pay envelopes.
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