Then
to a man who at that moment appeared in the doorway, "All right, Tom."
And to Helen, "Excuse me just a second, dear."
She watched him curiously as he turned sheet after sheet of the papers
the man handed him, seeming to absorb the pages at a glance, while a
running fire of quick questions, short answers, terse comments and
clear-cut instructions accompanied the examination.
Helen had never before been inside the doors of the industrial plant to
which her father had literally given his life. In those old-house days,
when Adam worked with Pete and the Interpreter, she had gone sometimes
to the outer gate to meet her father when his day's work was done. On
rare occasions her automobile had stopped in front of the office. That
was all.
In a vague, indefinite way the young woman realized that her education,
her pleasures, the dresses she wore, her home on the hill, everything
that she had, in fact, came to her somehow from those great dingy,
unsightly buildings. She knew that people who were not of her world
worked there for her father. Sometimes there were accidents--men were
killed. There had been strikes that annoyed her father. But no part of
it all had ever actually touched her. She accepted it as a matter of
course--without a thought--as she accepted all of the established facts
in nature.
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