“All right, Mr. Price,” said Patience submissively, gathering up her bills and thrusting them into a drawer.
“Hurry,” said Price. “You’ll be late for your supper.”
“No, I won’t,” returned Patience, putting on her jacket and hat. “This is wash day at our house. Supper is always late on wash day.”
“Wash day, eh? Then you ought to be home helping your mother.”
“Elsie will help mother,” replied Patience quietly.
“Are you sure about that?” demanded Mr. Price.
“Of course, I’m sure, Mr. Price,” said Patience, hurt.
“Well,” said Mr. Price, “I’m not so sure. But don’t stand here arguing. I haven’t any time to argue with a snip of a girl like you. Get out. Go home!”
Patience, still a little hurt by her employer’s expressed doubt about her sister, started for the front door. Looking out, she saw the overdressed young man with the automobile still standing across the street. He saw her, too, and waved his cigarette. Patience turned back into the store.
“Girl,” demanded Mr. Price, his patience now seemingly exhausted, “where in the devil are you going?”