I started running the prints through. Elsie watching me with an expert eye, checking my timing. After she saw I knew what I was doing, she didn’t pay any further attention, but kept on printing the pictures.
By the time she had her pile finished I had caught up with her. I ran through the last of the prints, and Elsie started taking the bottom ones out of the hypo. She sloshed them around for a minute in plain water, then put them in a water containing a chemical to dissolve the hypo, then washed them once more and put them in a dryer.
“Which ones are mine?” I asked.
“There’s a number on them,” she said. “It’ll tell. How about the twenty-five?”
“I paid your partner.”
“She didn’t say so.”
“She will when she gets back.”
She said, “Okay, you’ll have to wait.”
“It’s all right,” I told her.
Elsie saw that the prints were dry, then she took photographic mounts from the big pasteboard box that was under the shelf in the darkroom, mounted the pictures and again switched on white lights.