“I haven’t—bothered you,” he said.
After she had returned to her own desk, his voice echoed in her ears, miserable, angry, and forlorn:
“I haven’t bothered you.”
“I can’t help it,” she thought. “I can’t stay here.”
Promptly at twelve o’clock Randall left the office, without a word to any one. The door closed behind him.
“He’s gone,” she thought. “I won’t see him again![Pg 556]”
And it seemed to her that his going left all the world empty and desolate.
“His lordship isn’t quite so gay this morning,” said the girl next to her. “He got an awful calling down. Mr. Williams sent for him. I was in Mr. Pratt’s office, and we both heard every word. I was tickled to death! I can’t stand Randall.”
“What was the matter?” asked Mildred, her eyes on her work.
“Oh, it seems that Randall had been out with the boys last night, playing poker and drinking, and Mr. Williams heard about it. When Randall made a mistake in his work this morning, the old man jumped on him—told him he wasn’t up to his work, and that if he kept on like that he’d get the gate—told him he was expected to get here in the morning fresh and fit. Oh, he just jumped on him! I was tickled to death, Randall’s so high-hat.”