He says, 'I wish you all the luck in the world, girlie, and remember your job as filin' clerk will always be here for you.' Wasn't that gentlemanly of him?
Still, I'd rather act than stand on my feet all day filing letters.

I won't go back till I have to." "Me either," said Merton Gill, struggling against the obsession of Saturday-night dinner at Gashwiler's.
Grimly he resumed his seat when the girl with a friendly "So long!" had trudged on.

In spite of himself he found something base in his nature picturing his return to the emporium and to the thrice-daily encounter with Metta Judson's cookery.

He let his lower instincts toy with the unworthy vision.

Gashwiler would advance him the money to return, and the job would be there.