"I know, sir," replied the woman, in a troubled voice, "that they are not made quite so well as they might be. But consider how much I have had against me. A sick child—and worn out by attendance on her night and day."
"It's always a sick child, or some other excuse with the whole of you. But that don't answer me. I want my work done well, and I mean to have it so. If you don't choose to turn out good work, I can find a plenty who will."
"You sha'n't complain of me hereafter, Mr. Berlaps," replied the woman, submissively.
"So you have said before. But we shall see."
Berlaps then turned moodily to his desk, and resumed the employment he had broken off when the seamstress came in, while she stood with her hands folded across each other, awaiting his pleasure in regard to the payment of the meagre sum she had earned by a full week of hard labor, prolonged often to a late hour in the night. She had stood thus, meekly, for nearly five minutes, when Berlaps raised his head, and looking at her sternly over the top of his desk, said—
"What are you waiting for, Mrs. Gaston?"
"I should like to have the money for the pants I have brought in. I am out of every"—
"I never pay until the whole job is done. Bring in the other pair, and you can have your money."
"Yes; but Mr. Berlaps"——
"You needn't talk anything about it, madam. You have my say," was the tailor's angry response.