Part 31 (1/2)

”Well, well, my dear,” stammered Trubus. ”Don't be too harsh.”

”I am not harsh, but I have too much respect for you and the high ideals for which I know you battle every hour of the day to endure such a thing. Suppose the Bishop had come in instead of myself? Would he consider such actions creditable to the great purpose for which the church takes up collections twice each year throughout his diocese?”

Trubus tilted back and forth on his toes and tapped the ends of his plump fingers together. He was sparring for time. The girl looked at him saucily, and the offending visitor shrugged his shoulders as he quietly started for the door.

”Tut, tut, my dear! I shall reprimand the girl.”

”You shall discharge her at once!” insisted Mrs. Trubus, her eyes flas.h.i.+ng. ”She will disgrace the office and the great cause.”

Trubus was in a quandary. He looked about him. Miss Emerson, with a confident smile, walked toward the general office on the left.

”I should worry about this job. I'm sick of this charity stuff anyway.

I'm going to get a cinch job with a swell broker I know. He runs a lot of bunco games, too--but he admits. Don't let the old lady worry about me, Mr. Trubus, but don't forget that I've got two weeks' salary coming to me. And you just raised my weekly insult to twenty-five dollars last Sat.u.r.day, you know, Mr. Trubus.”

With this Parthian shot, she slammed the door of the general stenographers' room, and left Mr. Trubus to face his irate wife.

”You pay that girl twenty-five dollars for attending to a telephone, William? Why, that's more money than you earned when we had been married ten years. Twenty-five dollars a week for a telephone girl!”

”There, my dear, it is quite natural. She is especially tactful and worth it,” said Trubus, in embarra.s.sment. ”You are not exactly tactful yourself, my dear, to nag me in front of an employee. As the Scriptures say, a gentle wife....”

Mrs. Trubus gave the philanthropist one deep look which seemed to cause aphasia on the remainder of the Scriptural quotation.

For the first time Trubus noticed Mary Barton, standing in embarra.s.sed silence by the door, wis.h.i.+ng that she could escape from the scene.

”Who is this young person, my dear?”

”This is a young girl who is in deep trouble, and without a position through no fault of her own. I brought her down to your office to have you help her, William.”

”But, alas, our finances are so low that we have no room for any additional office force,” began Trubus.

”There, that will do. If you pay twenty-five dollars a week to the telephone operator no wonder the finances are low. You have just discharged her, and I insist on your giving this young lady an opportunity.”

Trubus reddened, and tried to object.

But his good wife overruled him.

”Have you ever used a switchboard, miss?” he began.

”Yes, sir. In my last position I began on the switchboard, and worked that way for nearly two months. I am sure I can do it.”

Trubus did not seem so optimistic. But, at his wife's silent argument--looks more eloquent than a half hour of oratory, he nodded grudgingly.

”Well, you can start in. Just hang your hat over on the wall hook.

Come into my office, my dear wife.”

They entered, and Mary sat down, still in a daze. She had been so suddenly discharged and then employed again that it seemed a dream.

Even the terrible hours of the night seemed some hideous nightmare rather than reality.

Miss Emerson came from the side room, attired in a street garb which would have brought envy to many a chorus girl.