“Ah, shut up that stuff. What does she do for you, anyway! Nothin’ mor’n anybody else would, an’ she gets enough out o’ you for seven dollars a week. Gosh, she’s makin’ seventy if she’s makin’ a cent. Here, lemme see that last memorandum of sales made.”
“I haven’t got it here,” was the low-spoken reply.
“Then where have you got it? I want it, do you understand.”
“I don’t see why you want it. I don’t see what good it does you, anyway, to know how much candy is sold here,” was the querulous answer.
“Ah, what do you know, anyway? You never did have enough sense to go in out of the rain. I know what I want it for. When I’m sure this business is makin’ the right-sized pile, I’m goin’—well, never mind what I’m going to do. But what I want you to do right now is to strike for ten dollars a week—see? You’ve been here six months on seven dollars, an’ that’s long and plenty. Now we’re going to have more of the profits.”
Katherine merely shook her head stubbornly.
“Does that mean that you won’t?” asked Lige, in an ugly tone.
“Yes, it does.”
“All right, all right. Then you can dust your sweet self out of 620 mighty quick. No happy home for you of my puttin’ up unless you do as I say, Miss Prude. Now where’s that memorandum I want?”
As he spoke Lige made a move as though he intended to go behind the counter. Poor, simple little Katherine! She had never been intended to play a double game.