"On your way out, stop at the cashier's. He'll
give you this week's pay in advance." Jeffries hesitated,
decided against dangerous liberality. "Not ten, you
understand, but say six. You see, you won't have been with us
a full week." And he hurried away, frightened by his prodigality,
by these hysterical impulses that were rushing him far from the
course of sound business sense. "As Jones says, I'm a generous
old fool," he muttered. "My soft heart'll ruin me yet."
Jeffries sent Mary Hinkle home with Susan to carry the dress
and hat, to help her make a toilet and to "start her off
right." In the hour before they left the store there was
offered a typical illustration of why and how "business" is
able to suspend the normal moral sense and to substitute for it
a highly ingenious counterfeit of supreme moral obligation to
it. The hysterical Jeffries had infected the entire personnel
with his excitement, with the sense that a great battle was
impending and that the cause of the house, which was the cause
of everyone who drew pay from it, had been intrusted to the
young recruit with the fascinating figure and the sweet, sad
face. And Susan's sensitive nature was soon vibrating in
response to this feeling. It terrified her that she, the
inexperienced, had such grave responsibility. It made her
heart heavy to think of probable failure, when the house had
been so good to her, had taken her in, had given her unusual
wages, had made it possible for her to get a start in life, had
intrusted to her its cause, its chance to retrieve a bad season
and to protect its employees instead of discharging a lot of them.
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