It had been a busy day in John Price's store and Patience was entering in her books items from a pile of bills on the desk before her. It was five minutes after her usual leaving time, but the girl accepted extra duty with a cheerfulness that was part of her nature. In the midst of her work there was a bustle at the back of the store. John Price, local merchant prince and owner of this establishment, had returned from the yard at the rear of the store where he had been superintending the storing of goods, arrived on the late afternoon train. He was a wiry little old man of sixty, abrupt, nervous, irritable and given to sharpness of speech which, he was profoundly convinced, hid from outside perception a heart given to unbusinesslike tenderness. He busied himself noisily about the shelves for a few minutes, then suddenly stuck his head through the door of the little office in which Patience was working. "What," he said, "you here? Get out. Go home." "I'll be through in a few minutes," rejoined Patience, without taking her eyes from her figures. "Tush," said Mr. Price. "What are you trying to do, give me a bad name with my trade? People will think I'm a slave driver. Get out." "In just a minute," smiled Patience. "Go home, I say," almost shouted Price. He took off his alpaca coat and hung it on a nail. Then he stepped up suddenly behind Patience, took the pen deliberately from her hand and pushed her off the stool. "Must I throw you out?" he demanded. "Must I? Must I, eh?" He pointed towards the door. "All right, Mr. Price," said Patience submissively, gathering up her bills and thrusting them into a drawer. "Hurry," said Price. "You'll be late for your supper." "No, I won't," returned Patience, putting on her jacket and hat. "This is wash day at our house. Supper is always late on wash day." "Wash day, eh? Then you ought to be home helping your mother." "Elsie will help mother," replied Patience quietly. "Are you sure about that?" demanded Mr. Price. "Of course, I'm sure, Mr. Price," said Patience, hurt. "Well," said Mr. Price, "I'm not so sure. But don't stand here arguing. I haven't any time to argue with a snip of a girl like you. Get out. Go home!" Patience, still a little hurt by her employer's expressed doubt about her sister, started for the front door. Looking out, she saw the overdressed young man with the automobile still standing across the street. He saw her, too, and waved his cigarette. Patience turned back into the store. "Girl," demanded Mr. Price, his patience now seemingly exhausted, "where in the devil are you going?" "Out the back way, if you please, Mr. Price." Mr. Price got up deliberately from the stool which he had occupied as soon as Patience had vacated it and looked out of the front door.