A minute later, so it seemed to the girl, she opened her eyes to find Mr. Ross and his daughter, Margaret, bending over her.
“She’s coming to, now,” she could faintly hear Mr. Ross say. “Bathe her head some more.”
Then he added jokingly, “Well, now, Miss Ann, you certainly gave us a start. What were you trying to do?”
Ann’s head ached agonizingly. She lifted her hand to her forehead, and felt it gingerly. A lump as large as a walnut was there just above the temple. She became aware, now that the mist was fading from her eyes and the ringing from her ears, that the factory was quiet. All the noise of machinery had ceased.
“What time is it?” she asked; and then, without waiting for an answer, “Where did you come from?”
“It is after eight. We were driving by on our way to see a friend on the East Side, and I thought I would drop in and see if you had remembered to lock the safe.” Mr. Ross laughed. “Fortunate for you that I doubted your ability.”
Ann raised her head and looked about her; then she dropped it heavily back on the improvised pillow Miss Ross had tucked under her head.
“It was that old sales book that knocked me down. It must have been on the edge of the pile and tipped over when I slammed the door.” She felt the bump on her head again. “I suppose I hit the wrapping desk when I fell.”
“It wouldn’t take much to knock out a little thing like you,” Mr. Ross laughed.
Ann opened her eyes again, a thought flashed through her mind, and she sat bolt upright on the floor.