The repartee dragged with Sally to-day, almost to sullenness, and when
she began to grow weary in the early afternoon, there was no reserve
strength on which she could fall back. She suddenly became aware that
she wanted support, aid, comfort. Finally she spilled a great armful of
"empties" down on the long drain-board of the sink, turned to the wall,
and buried her face in her hands. The cook, Bert, though he cast a
startled glance at her would not have dared to speak, after that
encounter of the morning, but a rather explosive sniff was too eloquent
an appeal to his manliness.
His left sleeve having fallen, he rolled it back, tied the strings of
the apron tighter about his plump middle, and advanced to the battle.
His hand touched the shoulder of the girl.
"Sally!"
"Shut your face!" moaned a stifled voice.
But he took his courage between his teeth and persisted.
"Sally, somethin' is wrong."
"Nothin' you can right, Fatty," said the same woe-stricken voice.
"Sally, if somebody's been gettin' fresh with you--"
Her arms jerked down; she whirled and faced him with clenched fists;
her eyes shining more brightly for the mist which was in them.
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