Jack Marston understands that this new era of the alcohol ban in the United States of America provides many young people seeking employment with sketchy jobs but he would've never guessed for you to work at a speakeasy. The job doesn't suit you in his eyes. First of all, you are a woman and women should be at home and helping the family. At least that is what he believes.

"Darling, I'm not saying for you to quit I'm just saying that this line of work ain't the best. Look around at the folk you are serving." Jack argues, his elbows leaning on the sticky counter, a shot of whiskey between his fingers as he raises the glass to his lips.

The cool liquid burns down his throat and into the empty pit of his stomach before Jack gestures for another drink, placing the money on the side. A frown plays at the corner of his lips and his thick brows furrow, matching his disapproval for this job. There are plentiful ways of making money and Jack is slightly disappointed you went down this root.

Running his hand through his hair, Jack clears his throat to speak loudly over the soft jazz playing in the background as well as the rowdy crowd of drunkards and some ladies offering out services.

"You deserve a job at home, helping me at the ranch. Being a mother. Or even a cleaner at the doctor's office? Just anything but this.. this poor excuse for a job." Jack suggests but even he is running out of ideas of what could be an alternative of work for you. He won't give up though.