“I really don’t know,” and Winifred began placing her array of work in sorted piles. “Indeed, I spoke carelessly. No one told me. I saw a commotion on Riverside Drive, and heard a man arguing with others that a boat then being towed by a police launch must be the missing one.”
Fowle’s whiff of annoyance had passed. He had jumped to the conclusion that such an extremely pretty girl would surely own a sweetheart who escorted her to and from work each day. He did not suspect that every junior clerk downstairs had in turn offered his services in this regard, but with such lack of success that each would-be suitor deemed Winifred conceited.
“I wish I had been there,” he said. “Do you go home the same way?”
“No.”
Winifred was aware that the other girls were watching her furtively and exchanging meaning looks.
“You take the Third Avenue L, I suppose?” persisted Fowle. Then Winifred faced him squarely. For some reason her temper got the better of her.
“It is a house rule, Mr. Fowle,” she said, “that the girls are forbidden to talk during working hours.”
“Nonsense,” laughed Fowle. “I’m in charge here, an’ what I say goes.”
He left her, however, and busied himself elsewhere. Apparently, he was even forgiving enough to call Miss Sugg out of the room and detain her all the rest of the morning.
Winifred was promptly rallied by some of her companions.