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Adams, Samuel Hopkins, 1871-1958

"Success A Novel"

"
"They are what the tenants make them."
"The tenants didn't build them with lightless hallways, did they?"
"They needn't live there if they don't like them. Have you spent all
your time, for which I am paying, nosing about like a cheap magazine
muckraker?" It was clear that Mr. Vanney was annoyed.
"I've been trying to find out what is wrong with Sippiac. I thought you
wanted facts."
"Precisely. Facts. Not sentimental gushings."
"Well, there are your guards. There isn't much sentiment about them. I
saw one of them smash a woman in the face, and knock her down, while she
was trying to catch a train and get out of town."
"And what did you do?"
"I don't know exactly how much. But I hope enough to land him in the
hospital. They pulled me off too soon."
"Do you know that you would have been killed if it hadn't been for some
of the factory staff who saved you from the other guards--as you
deserved, for your foolhardiness?"
The young man's eyebrows went up a bit. "Don't bank too much on my
foolhardiness. I had a wall back of me. And there would have been
material for several funerals before they got me." He touched his
hip-pocket. "By the way, you seem to be well informed."
"I've been in 'phone communication with Sippiac since the regrettable
occurrence.


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