Winnie Childs by C. N. Williamson

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"I'm so sorry," she said. "I didn't forget; but I felt sure that lady
wouldn't spend twenty dollars for a doll. And I _know_ I can find a
better--I mean, I know I can get some one to buy it."

"I'll buy it," said Mr. Logan, stepping up.

This time he had safely caught his tantalizing rainbow trout, which
had not a chance even to wriggle. There was 2884 without an excuse in
the shape of another customer, and there was Tobias, with whom, on the
strength of the alleged "invention," Mr. Jim Logan had already scraped
acquaintance.

The eyes of the girl and the man met. Logan saw that Miss Child had
already guessed what he meant to do, or that she thought she had. But
he believed that he had a card up his sleeve whose presence even her
sharp wit had not detected. He looked forward joyously to the scene
about to begin.

"Get the doll I spoke of and show it to this gentleman," commanded
Mr. Tobias, lingering to see that he was obeyed, for there was that in
the flushed face of 2884 which told him she was capable of a trick.

Little Sister lived in a large, open-fronted box lined with blue silk
and fluffy lace, in a desirable but not too conspicuous (Win had seen
to that!) corner of a shelf devoted entirely to dollhood. There she
stood now, the sweet, smiling child, the image of the ideal
two-year-old baby which every girl would like to have for her own
"when I'm married."

In reaching up her hands to take down the box Win hesitated. Next but
one was another doll, not unlike Little Sister to the casual eye,
especially the casual eye of a mere man. Its dress was also white; its
hair was of much the same gold, though not quite so radiant; its eyes
were as brown, if more beady; and it was larger, more elaborately
gowned, therefore more expensive. If Mr. Tobias recognized the
difference, would he not praise rather than blame the saleswoman,
since instructions were to force high-priced articles on customers
whenever possible?

Win darted a cornerwise glance at Tobias to see if he were
suspiciously watching her. He was, with the expression of a cloud
about to emit a flash of forked lightning. Little Sister must be
sacrificed!

Just then, as Win reluctantly placed the box on the counter for
Logan's twinkling inspection, Cupid went by on one of the endless
errands which, as he said, "kept him jerking up and down all day like
a churn." He knew Little Sister, for had not his beloved "Kid" ruffled
his feelings by remarking on a likeness between her pet doll and
himself? _Infra dig_ as was the comparison, he had forgiven it when
the Kid explained her affection for the type. Now that Fresh Guy who
had nearly "got him disliked" for fifty cents was going to buy the
doll!

Cupid "spotted" the trick at once and saw its cleverness. The boy
"made big eyes" at Win as he stumped past, and wondered whether she
"was fly enough to catch on" to what he wanted them to say.

She was not. At that moment, when she found herself outwitted by
Logan, Cupid's big hazel eyes and yellow head seemed irrelevant.

"The price is twenty dollars," she announced mechanically. These were
the first words she had uttered to Logan since passing him on to Miss
Leavitt the day of his first appearance in Toyland.

"That's all right," said her smiling customer. "Rather cheap for such
a handsome doll, isn't it? I think the young person I intend to give
it to will be pleased, don't you?"

"I can't say, I'm sure," returned Miss Child with aggravating
primness, her eyes cast down.

"Why, you might give me your advice!"

The glare of Mr. Tobias was turned upon her again, like a two-dollar
electric torch.

"It's quite one of our prettiest dolls," she admitted under the
searchlight.

"Good! I'm glad you think so. Well, here's the money, all in small
bills, I'm afraid. Would you mind just counting it over? I've got on
my gloves."

She had to take the money from him, which gave him a chance to touch
her hand, and he made the most of it. If Mr. Tobias saw what was
going on, he ignored it tactfully, for the great thing was to keep a
good customer at any price. If the price were a flirtation, why all
the better for the girl, provided the man were chump enough to give
her a good restaurant dinner now and then. Peter Rolls had to think of
his dividends, since he and his manager were not in business for their
health, and to make them satisfactory salesfolk had to be got cheap.
It was "up to" the girls to take care of themselves. What they did out
of business hours, Peter Rolls and Mr. Tobias did not care and didn't
want to know.

No. 2884 required the address, which Mr. Logan seemed eager to give.

"Write clearly, please," he gayly commanded. "Miss--Winifred--Child.
And now the number of the house. I know it as well as my own."

"I can't accept this," she said, not taken by surprise, because she
had been sure all along of what he meant. Only it came as a slight
shock that he should have found out her whole name and the street and
house where she lived.

"But see here," argued Logan, still in the low tone to which both
voices had fallen, "I bought the doll for you when I heard you liked
it. Why not? No harm in taking a doll from a friend."

"You're not a friend," she broke in.

"I want to be. What will that floorwalker chap say if Little Sister is
thrown back on Peter Rolls's hands? It might get you into trouble."

"I can't help that," Win was beginning desperately, when Earl Usher
came hurrying up from the other end of the department, where he had
been selling automatic toy pistols.

"Excuse me, Miss Child," said he briskly, "but that doll is sold. I
ought to have marked it, but forgot. My fault. While you was away to
lunch it happened. The purchaser is going to look in to-night, between
six and six-thirty, to pay and take the parcel away."

Mr. Tobias, hearing this announcement, came bustling into closer
earshot again.

"Very remiss--very remiss not to have marked the doll as sold," he
sputtered. "I don't think we can let the deal stand. _This_ gentleman
has offered to purchase in good faith, and here's his money. Your
customer may as like as not go back on the bargain."

"He won't," said Ursus firmly. "It's a man. He's often here doing
business. He'll be awful mad, and we'll lose him certain sure if we
throw him down like that. I'll be responsible."

"You!" sneered Tobias, impressed nevertheless. "Why, you ain't more
than a ten-dollar man, if you're that. This doll costs _twenty_
dollars."

"I know, and I don't pretend to have saved up a million. But this
mix-up is my fault, and the man was my customer, so I ought to stand
the racket. Look here," and he proudly drew forth from some inner
pocket on his enormous chest a handsome gold watch destitute of a
chain. "Presentation," he announced. "You can see my name _and_ the
date. I've hocked this more'n once and got forty. Will you keep it
till my customer turns up?"

"No," returned Tobias magnanimously. "If you're so sure of your man, I
guess it's all right, and the sale'll have to stand. I'm sorry, Mr.
Logan. But you see how it is. Can't one of our young ladies show you
something else?"

"No, thank you, not to-day," said Logan, his long, sallow face red and
the twinkle gone out of his eyes. "It was Little Sister or nothing for
me."

But though he gathered up his mass of greenbacks and stalked away with
his smart hat on the back of his incredibly sleek head, Tobias was not
greatly worried. The young swell was sweet on Child, and wasn't above
a flirtation with red-haired Leavitt at the same time he was trying to
spoon the English girl. He would come back, and soon--no fear!--to see
how his invention was going.

"Lordy! but that was a big bluff I put up!" sighed Earl Usher to
Cupid, as he slid his watch into the little boy's hand. "If Tobias had
taken me, I'd 'a' bin up a tree! Sure you can get off, sonny?"

"Dead sure, for they'll be sendin' me out. They always do. I'll manage
the biz for you."

"Good Bud! You get a quarter for yourself, see?--for puttin' me on to
the job in time."

Mr. Tobias happened to be at a distance when Usher's customer
came in and paid. But when the floorwalker inquired, at
six-thirty--characteristically remembering a small detail in the
terrible Christmas rush--the transaction had been completed and Little
Sister was gone. Even Win had not seen the purchaser. Ursus had come
in a hurry, his client's twenty dollars in hand, and had taken away
the box that contained the doll. There had not even been time to ask
if the man who had bought it looked kind and rich; but Win was too
thankful to have been saved from her "scrape" with Logan to care
passionately, after all, for Little Sister's fate.

That night, a few minutes before ten o'clock, the employees of the
various sections were lined up (men in one aisle, girls in another) to
receive their pay envelopes and, in most cases where the "holiday
extras" were concerned, their dismissals. Just in front of Winifred
Child was Sadie Kirk, and Win knew that for her friend it was a
question almost as important as that of life and death whether she
were to stay or go.

After holiday time it was dreadfully difficult to get work, she not
being the stuff of which stewardesses are made, and Sadie had more
pluck than physical strength. Never had she entirely recovered "tone"
after that attack of grippe which had lost her a good position, and
the strenuous work during these weeks at Peter Rolls's had pulled her
down. If she were to be "out of a job" things would be very bad for
her; yet, as she moved up slowly, step by step, to the desk of
destiny, she was reading a novel, calmly straining her eyes in the
trying light. Over her shoulder Win could see the name of the book,
"Leslie Norwood's Wife." Page after page Sadie turned, not with a
nervous flutter, but with the regularity which meant concentration.
She was bent on finding out what happened to _Leslie Norwood's_ wife
before the moment came to find out what was about to happen to Sadie
Kirk.

She was near the end now. But was she near enough? Win began, in her
nervous fatigue and anxiety on her own account, to wager with herself
as to whether Sadie would finish that book before her turn came to
take the fateful envelope. Would she? Would she not? "I bet she
_will_!" Win thought. "If she does, it'll mean luck for us both!"

And she did. Just as the girl ahead of Sadie clasped her pay envelope
with a slightly trembling hand, Sadie read the last word on the last
page, shut the volume, and tucked it under her arm. Then she took her
envelope and gave place to Win.

They were among the few lucky ones out of the extra two thousand. Most
of the others received with their pay little printed slips signed
"Peter Rolls," announcing that it was "necessary to readjust our force
down to the normal at this time." Those dismissed were politely
informed that their record was on file. Should vacancies occur where
they might be placed in future, they would be "notified to that
effect." Meanwhile they were thanked for loyal service. And--that was
the end of them as far as Peter Rolls was concerned.

He still had use, however, for Winifred Child, Sadie Kirk, Earl Usher,
and two or three other "live" workers in Toyland. They compared notes
joyously; but despite her sense of relief, Win's heart was heavy for
those left out in the cold. The girls who were disappointed hurried
away in silence, but many of the men whom No. 2884 had not thought of
as friends, scarcely as acquaintances, came up to say good-bye. They
held out their hands and remarked that they were "glad to have known
her."

Some of her ways and some of her sayings were pretty good, they
guessed, and they wouldn't forget her, although they didn't suppose
that they'd ever meet again. Suddenly Win realized that they had been
kind and pleasant, so far as it had lain in their power, and she,
staying on, would miss the faces that were gone. She choked a little
over these men's appreciation of the difference between her "ways" and
those of some other girls, and was half ashamed that it should
surprise her.

"I expect I'll have to take to the sea again," sighed the ex-steward.
"I wanted a little more time on land, but it ain't to be. Don't
forget, you and your friend Sadie, that I can get you jobs on one of
the big greyhounds."

"What a Christmas Eve!" Win said to herself aloud, as she almost fell
into her room at eleven-thirty. "In half an hour more it will be
Christmas, and I don't suppose there's one soul with a thought for me
in all Europe or America!"

But on the ugly red cover (warranted not to betray dirt) of the
rickety bed were two parcels--a big box and a little one. Somebody
must have been thinking of her, after all!

Revived, she cut the strings on both boxes and opened the little one
first, on the childlike principle of "saving the best thing for the
last."

"Lilies of the valley! Why, how lovely! Who could have sent them?"
There was no name, and a question asked itself in Win's mind that
spoiled all her pleasure--but only for a moment. She unwrapped the big
box, and on the cover (which looked curiously familiar) she read,
evidently scrawled in furious haste, with pencil: "From Ursus to
Lygia, with respectful regards and wishes for a merry Christmas. Also
please accept lilies."

(Miss Leavitt had testified her admiration for the blond giant by
sending him a box of her name flowers, bought with some of the
"change" Mr. Logan had told her to keep. The admired one had promptly
"passed them on." But Win did not know this, and he didn't see why she
ever should. Anyhow, flowers were flowers!)

The girl was so pleased to know that the lilies came from Ursus, not
another, that she could almost have kissed them--but not quite. Then,
in her relief, she lifted the cover of the large box and gave a cry
which was not unlike a sob. There, in silk and lace, with eyes closed
and smiling lips, lay Little Sister.

"Oh, his watch--his presentation watch!" she gurgled. And sitting on
the bed, with the great doll in her arms, she let fall on the
unresponsive head a few tears of grief and gratitude. She understood
everything now, even the "big bluff."

What had been or had not been in Miss Leavitt's pay envelope Win did
not know until the morning after Christmas, that strangest Christmas
of her life, which she spent resting quietly in bed. Returning next
day to Toyland, where everything looked half asleep in the early
gloom, she saw the glitter of red hair.

"Hello!" said Miss Leavitt. "Here we are again! Did you have a
merry---"

She stopped short, her eyes fastened on a tiny spray of pearly bells
half hidden in the folds of the other's black silk blouse. For an
instant she forgot what she had meant to say, gasped slightly, closed
her lips, opened them as if to speak, shut her teeth together with a
snap, swallowed heavily, and went on where she had broken
off--"Christmas?"

Win thanked her, said "Yes," and asked politely how Miss Leavitt had
spent her holiday. This gave the girl with red hair time to control
the temper which accompanied it. But if, in that brief interval of
uncertainty, she had burst out with the fierce insult which burned her
tongue, never again could she have ventured to claim friendship with
Winifred Child. And if she had lost her right to claim it, all the
future might have been different for one of them.

CHAPTER XIX

"YES" TO ANYTHING

At last it was July, and New York felt like a vast hermetically sealed
Turkish bath into which all were free to enter, but once in, must
remain, as there were no exits and no closing hours. Most of the
people you read about in the Sunday supplements (except those who
commit murders and such things) had escaped to the sea or mountains
before the Turkish bath opened for the summer. But there is never
anything in Sunday supplements about the assistants in department
stores, for they are fashionable only in restricted districts, and
they do not commit murders and such things, though they might
occasionally enjoy doing so.

It had been, said the newspapers, an exceptionally gay winter and
spring. Seldom had there been so many beautiful and important
debutantes. Lovely girls and admiring men had decorated each page of
the calendar, like rose petals. There had been cup races for
automobiles, and football and baseball matches for men and girls, and
other matches less noisy but almost as emotional. There had been
dinners and balls, first nights at the opera, Washington's Birthday
week-end house parties in the Adirondacks, and Easter church parades
for those who had not gone abroad or to Florida. Among those who chose
Florida (there had been a great deal about this in the Sunday
supplements) were Miss Rolls and her brother. Ena had collapsed under
an alleged attack of grippe after Lord Raygan went away and his
engagement with Portia (_alias_ "Pobbles") Gregory--the rich Miss
Gregory--was announced. Some people were mean enough to say that it
was not grippe but grief which laid Ena low in the height of the
season; and if there was anything in this gossip, the grief would have
been greater had Miss Rolls known that she herself was (indirectly)
responsible for the happy ending of Raygan's romance.

A letter written by Lady Eileen while at Sea Gull Manor to her cousin
Pobbles had (so Pobbles confessed later) suddenly opened the lady's
eyes to her own true feelings. She began to wonder if Rags had loved
her "for herself," after all. And, anyhow, she didn't want a girl like
Ena Rolls to get him. So she met the ship on which Lady Raygan, Rags,
and Eileen returned to Ireland, in order to "make a dead set" at the
man she had once discarded. An engagement was the consequence, and in
the first letter Rags wrote to thank his kind host and hostess on Long
Island, he asked for congratulations.

It was the same day that Ena began to sneeze so dismally that the only
place for her was bed. And when she could leave its seclusion the next
only place was Palm Beach. She said she would die unless she could go
to Palm Beach, so mother took her, and Peter took them both, not to
speak of Ena's maid.

He did not wish to play courier. To turn his back on New York
interfered seriously with his plans and half plans and hopes and half
hopes. But father would not go, and mother and Ena could not without
a man. Peter was the only one available at the moment, and it was
April when Ena felt well enough to face the North again. By this time
the news of her engagement to the Marchese di Rivoli had been copied
from all the principal papers into the little papers, and even the
most confirmed cats must be acknowledging far and near that to lose an
earl and gain a marquis is a step up in life.

It was, of course, not ideal that the Marchese di Rivoli had no
remaining family estates of which his _fiancee_ could talk, and there
were creatures ready to swear not only that he had come to Palm Beach
to pick up an heiress, but that the penniless princess who introduced
him to Miss Rolls had received a commission. Still there are always
family estates in the market, and where a coronet is there is gossip
also. Only the cat tribe start or believe it, and even cats purr to a
_marchesa_, lest they may want to visit Italy next year.

In the Turkish bath which was New York that July, Peter Rolls's
department store was one of the hot rooms. Miss Rolls did not come
over from Long Island to choose her trousseau there, as a badly
informed newspaper announced that she would do. She went to London and
Paris instead, because it was cooler as well as smarter to put the
Atlantic between her and "New York with the lid off." She ran over
with the divorced Italian princess who had made her acquainted with
the Marchese di Rivoli, and mother and Peter were released.

No doubt other big stores were as hot or hotter than Peter Rolls's
that July; but it seemed to Winifred Child that the Tropic of Cancer
might have breezes which the Hands missed. Those of the salespeople
who did not look as if at any moment their eyes might come out and all
their veins burst, were living advertisements for Somebody's
Anti-Anemia Mixture before the mixture was taken. Win was of the
latter type. She had become so pale and thin that Sadie Kirk compared
her to a celery stalk. Sadie herself had, according to her own
criticism, "shrunk and faded in the wash," but the two girls had now
few chances of "passing remarks" on each other's appearance, for,
though Sadie was still in Toys, Win had been put into Mantles.

This in itself was a solution of the Meggison mystery. The girl's
"cheek" had frightened the would-be "dog" and reminded him that a
model superintendent must never lose a born saleswoman. But he had not
sent for Win again, and Gloves were not for such as she.

Sadie, having "sauced" her landlady, found it wise to change her
quarters. She had taken a room in an apartment house two blocks
removed from her former home, and Win, not being able to afford a
"flit," remained at the old address. At first, when her pay was
increased by two dollars a week, she had intended to save and follow
Sadie. One had, however, to live mostly on ice-cream soda in the hot
weather, which cost money. Besides, even had she possessed the
dollars, she lacked energy of late. It was easier to keep on doing
what one had done than do anything new. And, in any case, nothing that
one did seemed to matter.

As for the lion tamer, Peter Rolls's shop saw him no more. He had "got
his nerve back" and had returned to lion taming, not because the old
life drew him irresistibly, but because there was far more money in
dominating real lions than in selling Teddy ones.

In the birth of Earl Usher's adoring love for Win the demise of the
animal who had "died on him" was forgotten. "Nerve" and courage and
love and the desire to conquer were one in his heart. When a "good
summer job at Coney" came his way, through an old friend in the "show
business," he took it.

Reluctant as he was to leave Peter Rolls, which meant leaving "his
girl," a change of position offered the only hope of obtaining her in
the end. And despite every discouragement from his Lygia, Ursus did
secretly cherish this hope. As she no longer lived in Toyland when he
went, the wrench of parting was not what it would have been to leave
her at the mercy of any man who could afford to buy a doll. There was
no excuse for men to "butt into" Mantles, unless accompanied by female
belongings, and thus accompanied, their sting was gone.

At Coney Island Ursus was earning thirty dollars a week instead of
ten, and was encouraged by crowds of admiring girls (who watched his
performance and bought his photographs) to consider himself
exceedingly eligible on that income. Many indeed made it plain to him
that he would have been worth taking for his face, his muscles, and
his spangled tights alone.

Sometimes on Sundays Sadie Kirk persuaded Win to "go to Coney for a
blow." The crowd on the boats was alarming and on the beach when you
got there, but the air was splendid, and poor Ursus beamed over his
lions' heads with pride and pleasure. These few excursions, however,
had been Winifred's only outings, except a play or two seen from a
gallery, since she came to make her fortune in America; and as each
day the heat pressed more heavily upon her with its leaden weight, she
felt that she would collapse and "do something stupid" if she could
not have a change. Anything--anything at all that was different and
would break the monotony!

Lily Leavitt, who was in the Mantles, too, had never ceased to be
friendly, and had often invited Win to go out with her in the long
summer evenings, but always in vain, month after month, until one day
in mid-July, when the heat wave had surged to its record height. It
just chanced--if there be such a thing as chance--to happen on the day
when the girl's craving for a change had become an obsession, almost
an illness.

It was a little past noon, and the seniors in Mantles had gone out to
lunch. They were rather by way of being aristocrats, these seniors,
for the mantle department, Jewellery, and some others worked "on
commission." Salaries were no larger than elsewhere, but a handsome
percentage was paid on sales; and those tigers and tigresses who were
strong and ferocious enough to grab meat from under their weaker
comrades' noses did extremely well. The Mantles girls who had gone out
were champion tigresses. They could afford to eat at something like
real restaurants, and as there was nothing worth rushing back for,
they would not return until the last moment.

Lily Leavitt, who was qualifying as a tigress, had just snatched a
sale which ought to have been Win's, but that did not count in their
private relations. It was business, and Win was "welcome to play the
same game"--if she could. Only, there was no danger that she would.
Win was not of the stuff from which tigresses are made, and was
incapable of seizing for herself anything--be it a seat in the subway
or the chance to sell a mantle--which some other human creature was
striving to get.

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