ate places of common wood
partitions, bare floors, and strange, tall stools and desks--she was
assured by an anaemic youth with a red Adam's apple that her father had
left for the bank an hour earlier, which was according to his usual
habit. She inquired for Chas Cooney, who kept books from one of those
lofty stools, but Chas was reported sick in bed, as Cally then
remembered that Hen had told her, some days since. Accordingly the
visitors fell into the hands of Mr. MacQueen, whom Carlisle, in the
years, had seen occasionally entering or leaving papa's study o' nights.

MacQueen was black, bullet-headed, and dour. He had held socialistic
views in his fiery youth, but had changed his mind like the rest of us
when he found himself rising in the world. In these days he received a
percentage on the Works profits, and cursed the impudence of Labor. As
to visitors, his politics were that all such had better be at their
several homes, and he indicated these opinions, with no particular
subtlety, to Miss Heth and Mr. Canning. He even cited them a special
reason against visiting to-day: new machines being installed, and the
shop upset in consequence. However, he did not feel free to refuse the
request out-right, and when Canning grew a little sharp,--for he did the
talking, generously enough,--the sour vizier yielded, though with no
affectation of a good grace.

"Well, as ye like then.... This way."

And he opened a door with a briskness which indicated that Carlisle's
expressed wish "just to look around" should be carried out in the most
literal manner.

The opening of this door brought a surprise. Things were so
unceremonious in the business district, it seemed, that you stepped from
the superintendent's office right into the middle of everything, so to
speak. You were inspecting your father's business a minute before you
knew it....

Cally, of course, had had not the faintest idea what to expect at the
Works. She had prepared herself to view horrors with calm and
detachment, if such proved to be the iron law of business. But, gazing
confusedly at the dim, novel spectacle that so suddenly confronted her,
she saw nothing of the kind. Her heart, which had been beating a little
faster than usual, rose at once.

Technically speaking, which was the way Mr. MacQueen spoke, this was the
receiving-and stemming-room. It was as big as a barn, the full size of
the building, except for the end cut off to make the offices. Negroes