“The Lord gives and the Lord takes away,” he added, sitting back straight in his chair.
He removed his spectacles and reached for the flare of his tie to polish them off, but no tie dangled to-day. It was a little black store-made bow, fastened with a clip over the collar button. Pidge still lingered, her hand on the knob.
“Blessed be the name of the Lord,” said John Higgins, “but it’s hell on us.”
She started out, but was called back.
“I need an audience, Miss Musser. I need a female ear. I need ladylike sympathy. It isn’t sweet of you to run off.”
“What’s the matter?”
The editor looked at her, squinted, put on his spectacles and looked again.
“Do you mean to say you don’t know what’s the matter?”
“Everything is the matter,” said Pidge. “But what’s new?”
His hand nearest her lifted and rested upon a pile of page proof on his desk.