asks you to do something, you walk out, Mister Big I-am. Then, show up here two days later and want your fee back. No siree.”
“I didn’t walk out.”
“The man says you did.”
“Aw, sure, he’d say anything. I told him I came there to be a cook, not a waiter. I”
“It was your place to do as he said, then, if not satisfied, to come here and tell me so.”
“I am here.”
“All right now. I'm tired of this. Take either of two courses—go on outside and wait until a job comes in or else go down to the license bureau and tell them your story. They’ll investigate. If I'm right”
“You know you ain’t right.”
“Not according to you, no, but by law, yes. That’s all.”
Telephone ringing. Warm metal whipping words into it. The good-looking young man yawning. He looks like a Y. M. C. A. secretary. The butterscotch woman speaking to Emma Lou:
“You're a stenographer?”
“Yes.”
“I have a job in a real estate office, nice firm, nice people. Fill out this card. Here’s a pen.”
“Mrs. Blake, you know you ain’t doin’ right.”
