Millie simpered. “It sounds so familiar not to,” she said.
“Rubbish,” grunted Thrale. “You can call me ‘engineer,’ I suppose?”
“Now, look here,” he continued, “do you see this hopper in here?”
She came close to him and peered into the machine.
“It gets clogged, do you see?” said Thrale, “and when the meal stutters you’ve just got to put your hand in and clear it. Understand?”
“I think so,” hesitated Millie. She was leaning against him and her body was trembling with delicious excitement. Almost unconsciously she pressed a little closer.
Thrale suddenly drew back. “Do you understand?” he said harshly.
“Ye-yes, I think so,” returned Millie; and she straightened herself, looked up at him for a moment and then dropped her eyes, blushing.
“Very well,” said Thrale, “and here’s another piece of advice for you. If you want to stay in the mill keep your attention on your work. You’re a man now, for all intents and purposes; you’ve got a man’s work to do, and you must keep your mind on it. If there’s any foolishness you go out into the turnip fields. You won’t have another warning,” he concluded as he turned and left her.
“Beast,” muttered Millie when she was alone. She was shaken with furious anger. “I hate you, you silly stuck up thing,” she whispered fiercely shaking with passion. “Oh, I wish you only knew how I hate you. I won’t touch your beastly machines again. I’d sooner a million times be out in the turnip field than in the same mill with you, you stuck up beast. I won’t work, I won’t do a thing, I’ll—I’ll——”