Just then the floor-walker called “Forward!” as a customer came to the other end of the counter; and the girl with the gentle voice moved away.
Minnie Henryson wondered whether this floor-walker was Mr. Maguire or Mr. Smith. Under the suggestion of his stare, whichever he was, Addie Cameron and the other shop-girl moved away toward the door, and the rest of their conversation was lost to the listener.
She did not know how long she continued to sit there, while customers loitered before the ribbon-counter and fingered the stock and asked questions. She heard the fire-engines come slowly back; and above the murmur which arose all over the store she caught again the harsh grinding of the brakes on the Elevated in the avenue. Then she rose, as she saw her mother looking for her.
“I didn’t mean to keep you waiting so long,” Mrs. Henryson explained; “but I couldn’t seem to find just the rug I wanted for your father. You know he’s always satisfied with anything, so I have to be particular to get something he’ll really like. And then I met Mrs. McKinley, and we had to have a little chat.”
Minnie looked at her mother. She had forgotten that the wife of the Corporation Counsel was a friend of her mother’s; and she wondered whether she could get her mother to say a good word for Addison Wyngard.
Mother and daughter threaded their way through the swarm of shoppers toward the door of the store.
“By the way, Minnie,” said her mother, just as they came to the entrance, “didn’t you tell me that young Mr. Wyngard sat next you at the theater the other night at that Thursday Club of yours? That’s his name, isn’t it?”
“Mr. Wyngard did sit next to me one evening,” the daughter answered, not looking up.
“Well, Mrs. McKinley saw you, and so did the Judge. He says that this young Wyngard is a clever lawyer—and he’s going to take him into his office.”
And then they passed out into the avenue flooded with spring sunshine.