She flashed a rippling smile at Kenwitz
and a look of somewhat flustered inquiry.
Kinsolving stood regarding her clear and pathetic beauty in
heart-throbbing silence. Thus they came into the presence of the last
item of the Instance.
"How many this week, Miss Mary?" asked the watchmaker. A mountain of
coarse gray shirts lay upon the floor.
"Nearly thirty dozen," said the young woman cheerfully. "I've made
almost $4. I'm improving, Mr. Kenwitz. I hardly know what to do with so
much money." Her eyes turned, brightly soft, in the direction of Dan. A
little pink spot came out on her round, pale cheek.
Kenwitz chuckled like a diabolic raven.
"Miss Boyne," he said, "let me present Mr. Kinsolving, the son of the
man who put bread up five years ago. He thinks he would like to do
something to aid those who where inconvenienced by that act."
The smile left the young woman's face. She rose and pointed her
forefinger toward the door. This time she looked Kinsolving straight in
the eye, but it was not a look that gave delight.
The two men went down Varick Street. Kenwitz, letting all his pessimism
and rancor and hatred of the Octopus come to the surface, gibed at the
moneyed side of his friend in an acrid torrent of words.
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