Chapter IV
SWEEPING CLEAN
"My goodness me!" ejaculated Bess Harley. "Talk about the
'leaden wings of Time.' Why! Time sweeps by us on electrically-
driven, ball-bearing pinions. Here's another week gone, Nan, and
tomorrow's Saturday."
"Yes," Nan agreed. "Time flies all too quickly, for me, anyway.
The mills have been closed a week now."
"Oh, dear! That's all I hear," complained Bess. "Those tiresome
old mills. Our Maggie's sister was crying in the kitchen last
night because her Mike couldn't get a job now the mills were
closed, and was drinking up all the money they had saved. That's
what the mill-hands do; their money goes to the saloon-keepers!"
"The proportion of their income spent by the laboring class for
alcoholic beverages is smaller by considerable than that spent by
the well-to-do for similar poison!" quoted Nan decisively. "Mike
is desperate, I suppose, poor fellow!"
"My goodness me!" cried Bess again. "You are most exasperating,
Nan Sherwood. Mike's case has nothing to do with political
Economy, and I do wish you'd drop that study out of school----"
"I have!" gasped Nan, for just then her books slipped from her
strap; "and history, rhetoric, and philosophical readings along
with it," and she proceeded cheerfully to pick up the several
books mentioned.
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