"Winslow is my name, sir," the man began, rising nervously as we
entered the room, "and this is my only daughter, Ruth."
Kennedy bowed and we waited for the man to proceed. He drew his
hand over his forehead which was moist with perspiration in spite
of the season. Ruth Winslow was an attractive young woman, I could
see at a glance, although her face was almost completely hidden by
the thick veil.
"Perhaps, Ruth, I had better--ah--see these gentlemen alone?"
suggested her father gently.
"No, father," she answered in a tone of forced bravery, "I think
not. I can stand it. I must stand it. Perhaps I can help you in
telling about the--the case."
Mr. Winslow cleared his throat.
"We are from Goodyear, a little mill-town," he proceeded slowly,
"and as you doubtless can see we have just arrived after
travelling all day."
"Goodyear," repeated Kennedy slowly as the man paused. "The chief
industry, of course, is rubber, I suppose."
"Yes," assented Mr. Winslow, "the town centres about rubber. Our
factories are not the largest but are very large, nevertheless,
and are all that keep the town going.
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