Graham went out of the building into the mill yard. The noise always
irritated him. He had none of Clayton's joy and understanding of it.
To Clayton each sound had its corresponding activity. To Graham it
was merely din, an annoyance to his ears, as the mill yard outraged
his fastidiousness. But that morning he found it rather more
bearable. He stooped where, in front of the store, the storekeeper
had planted a tiny garden. Some small late-blossoming chrysanthemums
were still there and he picked one and put it in his buttonhole.

His own office was across the yard. He dodged in front of a yard
locomotive, picked his way about masses of lumber and the general
litter of all mill yards, and opened the door of his own building.
Just inside his office a girl was sitting on a straight chair, her
hat a trifle crooked, and her eyes red from crying. He paused in
amazement.

"Why, Miss Klein!" he said. "What's the matter?"

She was rather a pretty girl, even now. She stood up at his voice
and made an effort to straighten her hat.

"Haven't you heard?" she asked.

"I haven't heard anything that ought to make Miss Anna Klein weep
of a nice, frosty morning in October. Unless - " he sobered, for
her grief was evident. "Tell me about it."

"Father has given up his job."

"No!"!