from the threepenny box.

At Great Titchfield Street, Gertie tried to divert her mind from
personal anxieties by throwing energy into work, with more than common
resolution. A large commission arrived from a ruler of an Eastern
nation, who considered a new and elaborately ornamental sash would
revive a feeling of loyalty in his army and patriotism in his country.
The girls were not permitted except on strictly limited occasions to
work after nine o'clock in the evening, and extra assistants had to be
engaged; the men upstairs who made the leather foundations were watched
and encouraged; Madame begged Gertie to recommend them to keep off the
drink, adding that they would take more notice of this advice if it
came from Miss Higham and not from Madame herself. All the looms were
at their noisy spider work; reels of gold thread were ordered in
twenties; the bobbins began to dance around the maypole,
sewing-machines sang lustily; the telephone only ceased ringing to
deliver messages. Miss Rabbit became hysterical, vehement, cross;
Gertie's intervention became necessary to prevent a strike amongst the
pinafored young women.

"We can be led, Miss Higham," they announced determinedly, "but we
won't be drove. You tell her to keep a civil tongue in her head, and
all will go well. We're not going to be treated as though we was
Russians."

The rush of work had, for consequence, a distinct advantage to Gertie,
apart from useful occupation of the mind. She stayed late to finish
books which could not be entered up in the day, and this meant that, on
returning home, the good news was frequently communicated that Mr.
Bulpert had gone; there was also the comfortable fact that she felt
sufficiently tired to go straight to bed. Bunny, at Great Titchfield
Street, on the occasions when she herself had to depart and leave
Madame and Miss Higham together, was a picture of woeful apprehension;
if she managed to gain the private ear of the girl, she reminded her
that no good ever yet came to one who failed to keep a solemn promise.

"Don't you worry," answered Gertie. "I'm not a parrot."

"I shan't feel happy about you," said the forewoman solicitously,
"until I hear you've got another berth. The smash-up will come as a
surprise to the others, but I don't care a snap of the fingers about
them or about myself. It's you I'm thinking about!"

Madame one night, at the sloping desk, referred vaguely to a wish that,
as she hastened t