Here Susan would wash her hands and face, and comb her bright thick
hair, and straighten belt and collar. There were always girls here:
a late-comer eating her luncheon, two chatter-boxes sharing a bit of
powdered chamois-skin at a mirror, a girl who felt ill drinking
something hot at the stove. Here was always company, and gossip,
Susan might stop for a half-cup of scalding hot tea, or a chocolate
from a striped paper bag. Returning, refreshed and cheered, to the
office, she would lay a warm, damp hand over Miss Thornton's, and
give her the news.

"Miss Polk and Miss French are just going it up there, Thorny, mad
as hops!" or "Miss O'Brien is going to be in Mr. Joe Hunter's office
after this."

"'S'at so?" Miss Thornton would interestedly return, wrinkling her
nose under the glasses she used while she was working. And perhaps
after a few moments she would slip away herself for a visit to the
lunch-room. Mr. Brauer, watching Front Office through his glass
doors, attempted in vain to discourage these excursions. The bolder
spirits enjoyed defying him, and the more timid never dared to leave
their places in any case. Miss Sherman, haunted by the horror of
"losing her job," eyed the independent Miss Brown and Miss Thornton
with open awe and admiration, without ever attempting to emulate
them.

Next to Susan sat severe, handsome, reserved little Miss Wrenn, who
coldly repelled any attempts at friendship, and bitterly hated the
office. Except for an occasional satiric comment, or a half-amused
correction of someone's grammar, Miss Wrenn rarely spoke.