“Mebbe not; but them that has come out, ma’am, tell sorry tales of creepin’ over dead men’s bodies—there ain’t much hope for the poor fellers inside now, I’m ’fraid.”
“Is—is there anything one can do?”
Peter shook his head.
“Not much, ma’am. They can’t get in to get ’em out. The young lady from the house here has got her hands full with the women and children. They are takin’ on awful, of course, but she kinder calms ’em down—she and that feller they call Hustler Joe.”
Miss Barrington turned away. As she opened the door she stopped abruptly and looked back into the kitchen.
“If they need anything, Peter—anything at all—come to me at once,” she said hurriedly, and closed the door behind her.
It was at dinner the next night that Mr. Barrington said to his general superintendent:
“What was the matter with Rotalick today? I heard you laying down the law pretty sharp to him this noon.”
“Oh, he wanted a prima donna, that’s all.”