Yet, though he had completed the letter, Gilder did not at once take up another detail of his business. Instead, he remained plunged in thought, and now his frown was one of simple bewilderment. A number of minutes passed before he spoke, and then his words revealed distinctly what had been his train of meditation.
“Sadie,” he said in a voice of entire sincerity, “I can't understand theft. It's a thing absolutely beyond my comprehension.”
On the heels of this ingenuous declaration, Smithson entered the office, and that excellent gentleman appeared even more perturbed than before.
“What on earth is the matter now?” Gilder spluttered, suspiciously.
“It's Mrs. Gaskell still,” Smithson replied in great trepidation. “She wants you personally, Mr. Gilder, to apologize to her. She says that the action taken against her is an outrage, and she is not satisfied with the apologies of all the rest of us. She says you must make one, too, and that the store detective must be discharged for intolerable insolence.”
Gilder bounced up from his chair angrily.
“I'll be damned if I'll discharge McCracken,” he vociferated, glaring on Smithson, who shrank visibly.
But that mild and meek man had a certain strength of pertinacity. Besides, in this case, he had been having multitudinous troubles of his own, which could be ended only by his employer's placating of the offended kleptomaniac.
“But about the apology, Mr. Gilder,” he reminded, speaking very deferentially, yet with insistence.
Business instinct triumphed over the magnate's irritation, and his face cleared.