“Have a cigarette?” he said abruptly, holding out his case to McLean.
“Thanks!” replied McLean, hiding a start of surprise.
For a time they smoked in silence.
“I can’t be hard on Sprague and McLean and not speak to her,” Napier was thinking. “That would be too damned unjust. Her whole week’s salary has been paid already, and she may need it badly. She may be in serious trouble.”
A great wave of tenderness swept over him as he thought of Joey. She was so pale and slight, so young.
“He’s almost human, after all!” McLean told himself, glancing at the new manager. He waited for awhile. “Well?” he inquired at last. “What do you want me to do about the pay envelopes, Mr. Napier?”
“Deduct ten shillings from Sprague’s,” said Napier. “Deduct ten shillings each week until his loan is repaid. It’s impossible to run an office like this. Now, what about you? How do you want to manage your advance? Ten—”
“You can pay me nothing at all this week,” McLean replied curtly.
There was another silence.
“What about—Miss Craig?” asked Napier. “Is she—entirely dependent on her salary?”