He sent her up to the Big Boss, and he did everything he could think of to get the girl to tell which chef had given her the ham. The girl refused absolutely to divulge that.
The Big Boss came down to our kitchen. He asked each chef in turn if he had given the girl the ham, and each chef in turn said No.
The Big Boss came back again in a few minutes. “We can put the detective force of the hotel on this job and find out within a few days who did give that ham away and the man will be fired. But I don't want to do it that way. If the man who did it will confess right now that he did I promise absolutely he will not be fired.”
A chef spoke up, “I did it.”
Within fifteen minutes he was fired.
As ever, the day for leaving arrived. This time I gave notice to Kelly three days in advance, so that a girl could be found to take my place. “The Big Chief and I both said when we seen you, she won't stay long at this job.”
“Why not?” I indignantly asked Kelly.
“Ah, shucks!” sighed Kelly. Later: “Well, you're a good kid. You were making good at your job, too. Only I'll tell y' this. You're too conscientious. Don't pay.”
And still later, “Aw, forget this working business and get married.”
There was much red tape to leaving that hotel—people to see, cards to sign and get signed. Everyone was nice. I told Kelly—and the news spread—the truth, that I was unexpectedly going to Europe, being taken by the same lady who brought me out from California, her whose kids I looked after. If after six months I didn't like it in Europe—and everyone was rather doubtful that I would, because they don't treat workin' girls so very well in Europe—the lady would pay my way back to America second-class. (The Lord save my soul.)