"Oh, Mr. Fleming," began Mary brokenly, "I don't understand what you mean. I have done nothing, sir!"
"Nothing! Nothing! You and this miserable sister of yours! Complaining to the police, are you, about men flirting with the girls in my store? Do you think society women want to come to a shop where the girls flirt with customers? No! I'm done right now. Get your hat and get out of here!"
"Why, what do you mean?" gasped the girl, her fingers contracting and twitching nervously.
"You're fired—bounced—ousted!" he cried. "That's what I mean." He turned toward the other girls and in a strident voice, unmindful of the two or three customers in the place, continued. "Let this be a lesson. I will discharge every girl in the place if I see her flirting. The idea!"
And he pompously walked back to his office as important as a toad in a lonely puddle.
Mary turned to the counter, which she caught for support. One of the girls ran to her, but Mrs. Trubus, standing close by, placed a motherly arm about her waist.
"There, you poor dear. Don't you despair. This is a large world, and there are more places for an honest, clever girl to work in than a candy store run by a popinjay! You get your hat and get right into my car, and I will take you down to my husband's office, and see what we can do there. Come right along, now, with me."
"Oh, I must go home!" murmured Mary brokenly.
But at the elderly woman's insistence she walked back, unsteadily, to the wardrobe room for her hat and coat.
"How dare you walk out the front way," raved the manager, as she was leaving with Mrs. Trubus.