"If you are not
going to say anything to the others before then I will go away."
Brooks nodded. The reporters whispered together.
"May we stay and watch for a few minutes?" one of them asked.
Brooks agreed, and went on with his work. Once more the human flotsam
and jetsam, worthy and unworthy, laid bare the sore places in their
lives, sometimes with the smooth tongue of deceit, sometimes with the
unconscious eloquence of suffering long pent up. One by one they found
their way into Brooks' ledgers as cases to be reckoned out and solved.
And meanwhile nearly all of them found some immediate relief, passing
out into the night with footsteps a little less shuffling, and hearts a
little lighter. The night's work was a long one. It was eleven o'clock
before Brooks left his seat with a little gesture of relief and lit a
cigarette.
"I must go and get something to eat," he said. "Will you come Miss
Scott?"
She shook her head.
"I have to make out a list of things we want for my department," she
said. "Last night they were nearly all women here. Don't bother about
me.
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