I meant it. I am tired of begging for my living. But it would cost you very little to help me to some situation. If you will do this, I will try not to trouble you again.”  

Mr. Bigelow pressed his lips and beat a tattoo with his fingers.  

“What kind of work can you do?”  

“I couldn't take skilled work, I suppose,” she replied a little wearily, “and I could hardly expect an office position--at my age. But I have thought of going into a department store. I really ought to be able to do something there.”  

Mr. Bigelow was fidgeting a little: he was thinking of the Pine Lands correspondence.  

“Why, yes,” he said, “I don't know but what that could be arranged. I will speak to Murray of the New York store. He is employing hundreds of people all the time, and I know he has difficulty in getting good ones.”  

He finished with a wave of dismissal and turned back to his letter. But the woman waited.  

“You will see him today?” she asked.  

“Why, yes”--rather impatiently--“I will try to see him this noon.”  

“And shall I come back this afternoon?”  

Mr. Bigelow leaned back again.  

“No, I hardly think that will be necessary. Let me see------”  

“I don't see how I am to know if I don't come back--unless you write to me.”  

He hesitated at this and, thanks to his hesitation, received a keen stroke below his armor.  

“If it is the writing,” she said, with quiet, bitter scorn, “you know I have letters enough now.” Yes, she had, and he knew it: there had been blue moments in his life when he would have given a great deal to get those letters back--letters relating to money matters, most of them; explanations why certain sums were still unpaid, perhaps; letters sent back into another life, a life which had gone under Mr. Bigelow's feet as he mounted to higher things. And she added: “You needn't sign your name if you'd rather not.”  

Yes, it was time to close this interview. He was not enjoying it at all--was even willing to concede a point in order to be rid 

 Prev. P 12/171 next