Mr. Wrenn was getting so
absorbed in his work that he didn't even act as though it was a
favor when Mr. Guilfogle allowed him to have his letters to the
trade copied by carbon paper instead of having them blurred by
the wet tissue-paper of a copy-book. The manager did grant the
request, but he was justly indignant at the curt manner of the
rascal, whereupon our bumptious revolutionist, our friend to
anarchists and red-headed artists, demanded a "raise" and said
that he didn't care a hang if the [qualified] letters never went
out. The kindness of chiefs! For Mr. Guilfogle apologized and
raised the madman's wage from seventeen dollars and fifty cents
a week to his former nineteen dollars. [He had expected
eighteen dollars; he had demanded twenty-two dollars and fifty
cents; he was worth on the labor market from twenty-five to
thirty dollars; while the profit to the Souvenir Company from
his work was about sixty dollars minus whatever salary he got.]
Not only that. Mr. Guilfogle slapped him on the back and said:
"You're doing good work, old man.
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