"Quit," she told him. "Why keep a job you don't like?"

"Shut up," the shipping clerk said.

Mary Anne let go of the completed table and watched the welder fuse the legs in place. She enjoyed the sputter of sparks: it was like a Fourth of July display. She had asked the welder to let her try the torch, but he always grinned and said no.

"They don't like your work," she said to the clerk. "Mr. Bolden told his wife that unless your work picks up, he isn't going to keep you on."

"I wish I was back in the army," the clerk said.

There was no use talking to him. Mary Anne, with a swirl of her skirts, left the work area and returned to the office.

At his desk was elderly Tom Bolden, the owner of California Readymade; and, at the adding machine, was his wife. "How's he coming?" Bolden asked, presently aware that the girl had returned. "Sitting around loafing, as usual?"

"Working very hard," she said loyally, seating herself before her typewriter. She didn't like the shipping clerk but she refused to involve herself in his downfall.

"You have that Hales letter?" Bolden said. "I want to sign it before I leave."

"Where are you going?" his wife asked.

"Up to San Francisco. Dohrmann's says there's defects in the last load."

She found the letter and passed it to the old man to sign. It was a faultless page she had done, but she felt no pride; chrome furniture and typing and the problems of a department store blurred meaninglessly into the clatter of Edna Bolden's adding machine. She reached within the material of her blouse and adjusted her bra strap. The day was hot and empty, as always.

"Should be back by seven," Tom Bolden was saying.

"Be careful of the traffic." That was Mrs. Bolden, who was holding the office door open for him.