Part One - At The Mill

I

An Afternoon in the Life of Mr. Neale Crittenden, aet. 38 May 27.

The stenographer, a pale, thin boy, with a scarred face, and very white
hands, limped over to the manager's desk with a pile of letters to be
signed. "There, Captain Crittenden," he said, pride in his accent.

Neale was surprised and pleased. "All done, Arthur?" He looked over the
work hastily. "Good work, good work." He leaned back, looking up at the
other. "How about it, anyhow, Arthur? Is it going to work out all
right?"

The stenographer looked at him hard and swallowed visibly. "I never
dreamed I'd be fit to do anything I like half so well. I thought when I
was in the hospital that I was done for, for sure. Captain Crittenden,
if you only knew what my mother and I think about what you've done for
. . ."

Neale dodged hastily. "That's all right. That's all right. If you like
it, that's all that's necessary. And I'm not Captain any more."

"I forget, sir," said the other apologetically.

"Can you sit down and take a second batch right now? I want to get
through early. Mrs. Crittenden's going to bring some visitors to see the
place this afternoon, and I'll have to be with them more or less."

He looked at the clock. It was half-past three. Marise had said she
would be there about four. He gave a calculating glance at the stack of
letters. He would never be able to get through those. "We'll have to get
a move on," he remarked. "Things got pretty well piled up while I was
away."