Mr. Denton was reaching for the price tag now. His brow was almost black as he asked the question.
Mr. Smith looked at him anxiously—he could not quite comprehend him.
"Two dollars, sir," he answered, smiling—"and they sell like hot cakes. It's the grade of goods that yields us the best profit."
Mr. Denton dropped the garment with a look of horror in his face.
"Take the things away," he said shortly, "and, see here, Smith, don't order any more goods from any of those 'sweat-shops!' I won't have another dollar's worth of them in the building!"
The buyer looked amazed, while Mr. Day turned almost purple.
"We make an average of three hundred per cent on every garment, and we have contracts with some 'sweat-shops' or other for a dozen grades of clothing!"
"We'll buy them off them at a good round sum; then you hear what I say—no more 'sweat-shops,' Mr. Smith!" was the calm reply.
The buyer bundled up his goods and hurried out of the office. His employer's decision nearly took his breath away.
"Are you crazy, Denton?" cried Mr. Day, as soon as the door was closed. "Is it possible that you have lost your senses completely?"