“It's a hard storm,” the foreman said again, almost appealingly.
“Yes, it is very hard,” replied Ellen, slipping another shoe under the needles.
“What on earth ails you this morning, Ellen Brewster?” Sadie Peel said to her, when the foreman had gone. “You look queer and act queer.”
“Ellen ain't in the habit of joking with Ed Flynn,” said Abby Atkins, on the other side, with sarcastic emphasis.
“My, don't you feel big!” sneered Sadie Peel. There was always a jarring inconsequence about this girl, she was so delicately pretty and refined in appearance, her ribbons were so profuse and cheap, and her manners were so recklessly coarse.
Ellen said nothing, but worked steadily.
“Mame Brady's just gone on Ed Flynn, and he goes with her just enough to keep her hangin', and I don't believe he means to marry her, and I think it's mean,” said Sadie Peel.
“She ought to have more sense than to take any stock in him,” said Abby.
“She ain't the only one,” said Sadie. “Nellie Stone in the office has been daft over him since she's been there, and he don't look at her. I don't see what there is about Ed Flynn, for my part.”
“I don't,” said Abby, dryly.