rush jobs had come in; he had tried in vain to get help; the boy had
come late to the office, and, altogether it seemed as though everything
had happened that could happen to make things uncomfortable.

Clara arrived on the scene just when the confusion was at its height;
the room was littered with scraps of paper and inky cloths; the famous
printer's towel was lying on the desk; the stove, with its hearth piled
full of ashes, emitted smoke and coal gas freely; and the printer was
emptying the vials of his wrath upon the public in general, because
all wanted their printing done at the same instant; while the boy,
with a comical look of fear upon his ink-stained face, was dodging
here and there, striving as best he could to avoid the threatening
disaster.

The young girl's coming was like a burst of sunlight. In an instant
the storm was past. The boy's face resumed at once its usual expression
of lofty indifference; the fire burned freely in the stove; the towel
was whisked into its proper corner; and she was greeted with the first
smile that had shown on the printer's face that day. "You're just in
time," he cried gaily, as he seated her in the cleanest corner of the
office.

"I should think so," she answered, smiling, and glancing curiously
about the room; "looks as though you wanted a woman here."

"I do," declared George. "I've always wanted _a_ woman; haven't I told
you that often enough?"

"For shame, George Udell. I came here on business," Clara answered
with glowing cheeks.