"Now, daddy, you know I don't allow you to talk like that. Why,
you are only just finished working.... the Samuel Circuit, too!"

Barbara looked up at the old man quickly.

"Only, four weeks' trial, my dear.... they didn't want me, else
they would have given me the full forty weeks. No, I expect I am
getting past my work. But it's hard on you child...."

Barbara sprang up and placed her hand across her father's mouth.

"I won't have you talk like that, Mac"--that was her pet name for
him--"you've worked hard all your life and now it's my turn. Men
have had it all their own way before this war came along: now
women are going to have a look in. Presently' when I get to be
supervisor of my section and they raise my pay again, you will be
able to refuse all offers of work. You can go down to Harris with
a big cigar in your mouth and patronize him, daddy..."

The telephone standing on the desk in the corner of the cheap
little room tingled out sharply. Barbara rose and went across to
the desk. Mr. Mackwayte thought how singularly graceful she
looked as she stood, very slim, looking at him whimsically across
the dinner-table, the receiver in her hand.

Then a strange thing happened. Barbara quickly put the receiver
down on the desk and clasped her hands together, her eyes opened
wide in amazement.

"Daddy," she cried, "it's the Palaceum... the manager's office...