“Shure, sir, you are very hard with a poor widow,” said Mrs. Carlin, wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron.
“Business is business, Mrs. Carlin.”
“If Mr. Fairchild were in, he’d trate me better than you. Will he be in soon?”
“Perhaps he will, and perhaps he won’t. You can pay the money to me.”
“I won’t, sir, beggin’ your pardon. I’d rather wait and see him.”
“Very well! you can take the consequences,” and Mr. Mullins eyed the widow with an unpleasant and threatening glance.
She looked very sad, and Chester felt that he should like to give the bookkeeper a good shaking. He could not help despising a man who appeared to enjoy distressing an unfortunate woman whose only crime was poverty.
At this moment the office door opened, and a gentleman of perhaps forty entered. He was a man with a kindly face, and looked far less important than the bookkeeper. Mr. Mullins, on seeing him, laid aside his unpleasant manner, and said, in a matter-of-fact tone:
“This is Mrs. Carlin. She owes six dollars rent, and only brings three dollars and a half.”
“How is this, Mrs. Carlin?” inquired Mr. Fairchild, for this was he.