With an indescribable look into Phenie's pale, down-cast face,—a look made up of pain, tenderness and reproach,—he put her hand through his arm, and they went away.
As might have been expected, Phenie avoided me, after this, more carefully than ever. I was glad that she did so. I was also glad when, a week or two later, Mrs. Angel presented herself, in a towering state of indignation, to inform me that Phenie had received her discharge. In vain I reminded her that Phenie's position had been, from the beginning, a temporary one.
"I don't keer!" she persisted. "I'd like ter know what difference it would 'a' made to the Government—jess that little bit o' money! An' me a-needin' of it so! Why couldn't they have discharged some o' them women as sets all day on them velvet carpets an' cheers, a-doin' nothin' but readin' story-papers? Phenie's seen 'em a-doin' of it, time an' ag'in—an' she a-workin' at a old greasy machine!"
In vain I endeavored to prove that no injustice had been done. Mrs. Angel's attitude toward the United States Government remains, to this day, inflexibly hostile.
"Ef Columbus had let alone interferin' between Phenie an' them that was intendin' well by her, I reckon she'd 'a' been settin' on one o' them velvet cheers herself by this time," she remarked, mysteriously, "or a-doin' better still."
I looked at her sharply.
"They's a gentleman," she went on, with a foolish smile, "a gineral, as is all taken up with Phenie. He's a great friend o' the President's, you know, an' they's no knowin' what he might do for the gal, ef Columbus'd let alone interferin'."
"Then Phenie has told you of her new acquaintance?" I said, much relieved.
Mrs. Angel looked at me blankly.