“Do as I say, then! Do as I say!”
“Well, put back your head! Put back your head.”
“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.”