cuse
for bein' late."

"Oh, come now," intervened a man's voice, "this young lady is not so far
behind time as to cause such a row. She can pull out a bit and make up
for it."

Miss Sugg wheeled wrathfully to find Mr. Fowle, manager on that floor,
gazing at Winifred with marked approval. Fowle, a shifty-eyed man of
thirty, compactly built, and somewhat of a dandy, seldom gave heed to
any of the girls employed by Brown, Son & Brown. His benevolent attitude
toward Winifred was a new departure.

"Young lady!" gasped the forewoman. She was in such a temper that other
words failed.

"Yes, she isn't an old one," smirked Fowle. "That's all right, Miss
Bartlett, get on with your work. Miss Sugg's bark is worse than her
bite."

Though he had poured oil on the troubled waters his air was not
altogether reassuring. Winifred went to her bench in a flurry of
trepidation. She dreaded the vixenish Miss Sugg less than the too
complaisant manager. Somehow, she fancied that he would soon speak to
her again; when, a few minutes later, he drew near, and she felt rather
than saw that he was staring at her boldly, she flushed to the nape of
her graceful neck.

Yet he put a quite orthodox question.

"Did I get your story right when you came in?" he said. "I think you
told Miss Sugg that the harbor police had picked up the motor-boat in
that yacht case."

"So I heard," said Winifred. She was in charge of a wire-stitching
machine, and her deft fingers were busy. Moreover, she was resolved not
to give Fowle any pretext for prolonging the conversation.

"Who told you?"

The manager's tone grew a trifle less cordial. He was not accustomed to
being held at arm's length by any young woman in the establishment whom
he condescended to notice.

"I really don't know," and Winifred began placing her array of work in
sorted piles. "Indeed, I spoke carelessly. No one told me. I saw a
commotion on Riverside Drive, and heard a man arguing with others that a
boat then being towed by a police launch must be the missing one."

Fowle's whiff of annoyance had passed. He had jumped to the conclusion
that such an extremely pretty girl would surely own a sweetheart who
escorted her to and from work each day. He did not suspect that every
junior clerk downstairs had in turn offered his services in this regard,
but with such lack of success that each would-be suitor deemed Winifred
conceited.

"I wish I had been there," he said. "Do you go home the