The floorwalker who controlled Mantles was one of the smartest men in any department, somewhat of a martinet, but inclined to be reasonable with those who had any "gumption." Miss Child had gumption, and though it was nearly time for the public to rush in (there was a bargain sale that day) he gave her a permit of absence.
"Nothing worse than a headache, I hope, takes you to the H.R.?" he questioned, scrawling his powerful name. "We need everybody to get busy to-day."
"I'm going to beg for some sal volatile," answered Win, and determined to do so, as even white fibs were horrid
little things, almost as horrid as cowardly, scuttling black beetles.
Poor Sadie had giggled the other night: "You stick even to the truth this hot weather!"
The doctor had not gone, but he did not know of the new place Sadie referred to, and, not knowing, didn't believe in its existence. He had told Sadie Kirk yesterday that her lungs were infected and that she had become "contagious." Of course she had had to be discharged. These things were sad, but they were a part of the day's work. It was a pity that Miss Kirk hadn't been longer with the Hands. Her insurance money wouldn't amount to much.
"Do you mean to say that they've sent her away to die and haven't given her anything?" Win gasped.
"Not to die, I hope," said young Dr. Marlow. "She's curable. But she wouldn't get more than a week's salary with her discharge, I'm afraid. Old Saint Peter isn't in this business for his health."
"Or for any one else's," the girl retorted.
Marlow shrugged his shoulders, bowed slightly to the pretty but unreasonable young woman, and went away.