“My, don’t you feel big!” sneered Sadie Peel.  There was always a jarring inconsequence about this girl, she was so delicately pretty and refined in appearance, her ribbons were so profuse and cheap, and her manners were so recklessly coarse.

Ellen said nothing, but worked steadily.

“Mame Brady’s just gone on Ed Flynn, and he goes with her just enough to keep her hangin’, and I don’t believe he means to marry her, and I think it’s mean,” said Sadie Peel.

“She ought to have more sense than to take any stock in him,” said Abby.

“She ain’t the only one,” said Sadie.  “Nellie Stone in the office has been daft over him since she’s been there, and he don’t look at her.  I don’t see what there is about Ed Flynn, for my part.”

“I don’t,” said Abby, dryly.

“Well, I don’t know.  He’s pretty good-looking,” said Sadie Peel, “and he’s got a sort of a way with him.”  All the time the girl was talking her heart was aching.  The foreman had paid her some little attention, which she had taken seriously, but nobody except her father had known it, or known when he had fallen off.  Sometimes Flynn, meeting the father’s gaze as he passed him at his work at the cutting-bench, used to waver involuntarily, though he asked himself with perfect good faith what was it all about, for he had done the girl no harm.  He felt more guilty concerning Mamie Brady.

Ellen worked on, with her fingers flying and her forehead tense with thought.  The chatter of the girls ceased.  They were too busy to keep it up.  The hum of work continued.  Once Ellen knew, although she did not see him, by some subtle disturbance of the atmosphere, a little commotion which was perfectly silent, that Robert Lloyd had entered the room.  She knew when he passed her, and she worked more swiftly than ever.  After he had gone out there was a curiously inarticulate sound like a low growl of purely animal dissent over the room; a word of blasphemy sounded above the din of the machines.  Then all went on as before until the noon whistle blew.

Even then there was not so much discussion as might have been expected.  Robert, since the storm was so heavy, remained in the office, and sent a boy out for a light luncheon, and the foremen were much in evidence.  There was always an uncertainty about their sentiments, occupying as they did a position half-way between employer and employes; and then, too, they were not affected by the cut in wages.  The sentiments of the unaffected are always a matter of suspicion to those who suffer themselves.  There were grumblings carried on in a low key behind Flynn’s back, but the atmosphere for the most part was one of depression.  Ellen ate her luncheon with Maria and Abby.  Willy Jones came up timidly when they were nearly finished, feeling his way with a remark about the storm, which was increasing.

“All the cars are tied up,” he said, “and the noon train isn’t in.”