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Howells, William Dean, 1837-1920

"The Rise of Silas Lapham"


Walker could not rest till he had developed the whole situation,
so far as he knew it. "Look at the stock we've got on hand.
There's going to be an awful shrinkage on that, now! And
when everybody is shutting down, or running half-time,
the works up at Lapham are going full chip, just the same
as ever. Well, it's his pride. I don't say but what it's
a good sort of pride, but he likes to make his brags that
the fire's never been out in the works since they started,
and that no man's work or wages has ever been cut down yet
at Lapham, it don't matter WHAT the times are. Of course,"
explained Walker, "I shouldn't talk so to everybody;
don't know as I should talk so to anybody but you,
Mr. Corey."
"Of course," assented Corey.
"Little off your feed to-day," said Walker, glancing at
Corey's plate.
"I got up with a headache."
"Well, sir, if you're like me you'll carry it round
all day, then. I don't know a much meaner thing
than a headache--unless it's earache, or toothache,
or some other kind of ache I'm pretty hard to suit,
when it comes to diseases. Notice how yellow the old man
looked when he came in this morning? I don't like to see
a man of his build look yellow--much." About the middle
of the afternoon the dust-coloured face of Rogers,
now familiar to Lapham's clerks, showed itself among them.


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