Mr. Fredericksohn avoided her eye. "Please sit down," he said. And then, to Gloria: "Miss Scott, if you'll make the call ... you know what I mean?"
"Of course," she said.
"The—" He whispered it: "The hospital?"
"What did you say?" Mrs. Wladek demanded. "What did you tell her?"
Gloria disengaged herself and went to the door. As she shut it behind her she could hear Mrs. Wladek's voice, rising to a crescendo of threats and abuse, and Mr. Fredericksohn's calm, scholarly attempts to stem the tide. She almost smiled.
Then she went to her own desk and picked up the telephone.
Actually, she told herself, matters had worked out for the best. Rudi had a job, and would grow into a fully functioning member of society. Mrs. Wladek would not be on the relief rolls any longer.
And what Mrs. Wladek wanted—a place to live, and someone to take care of her—would certainly be provided for her.
Yes, everything had worked out for the best. And, next time, she'd be able to handle a situation like Mrs. Wladek's with less trouble. Gloria looked into the future—into a long series of days and weeks, helping people, getting them to do what was best for them. Oh, sometimes they wouldn't like it right away, but you had to expect that. What was best for them—
Gloria smiled to herself quietly, and dialed a number.