For some subtle reason, however, "chaps" did not pinch or tickle Win or slip arms around her waist. One confided to another that he guessed there was nothing "didding" in that direction, and he'd as soon make love to the Statue of Liberty as an English Maypole; which was as well, for from the first moment of her entrance on the scene, the lion tamer kept his eyes open. There were all sorts and conditions of men in Toys, but he was among them as a giant among pygmies; and even if the ex-ship's steward, the ex-trolley driver, the conjurer out of a job, and the smart young men who had been "clerking since they were in long pants," had wished to try their luck with Win, Earl Usher would have shown them the wisdom of turning their eyes elsewhere.
The news soon ran round Toyland that "Winsome Winnie" was Usher's girl. The male "assistants" did no worse than call her by her Christian name (they must have caught it from Sadie), and that was no cause of offence to girl from man in a department store. Every girl in a department shared by men was "Kitty" or "Winny," "Sadie" or "Sweetie," while the men expected to be addressed as Mr. Jones or Mr. Brown, except by their own particular "petsies." Sadie was popular with all, even the "permanences," who considered themselves above the "holiday extras." The ex-steward, a
good-looking young German, had offered to get her a dandy place as stewardess when he felt ready to sniff salt water again, and though she wasn't "taking any," and often boxed his ears, she made "dates" with him for dance halls after business hours, especially one called Dreamland, which was too lovely for "wuyds." There were movies, and you could dance till 'most morning. Real swell gentlemen, who wore red badges to show "they was all right," came up and asked if they could "interdooce" other gents to you, in case you'd come in alone and didn't have friends. But Sadie always did have friends.
The red-haired girl, who had from the first been a haunting mystery for Win, was in the toy department. Her name was Lily Leavitt, and—as Sadie had already told Win—she was "chucking herself" at Earl Usher's head. At first Miss Leavitt "lamped" Miss Child "something awful." But on the English girl's third Toy day a thing happened which converted the enemy into a friend—an all too devoted friend.
It was now so near Christmas that in the department devoted to toys and games you could not have placed a sheet of foreign notepaper between mothers (with a sprinkling of aunts and grandmas) unless you wanted it torn to pieces before you could count "One!" Children were massed together in a thick, low-growing underbrush, and of their species only babies were able to rise, like cream, to the top. The air, or rather the atmosphere (since all the air had been breathed long ago), was to the nerves what tow is to fire. Nobody could be in it for ten minutes without wanting to hit somebody else or push somebody else's child, little brute! out of the way.
What with heat, the rage for buying, impatience to get in and impatience to get out, the fragrance of pine and holly decorations, the smell of hot varnish and hot people and cheap furs, the babble of excited voices and shrieks of exhausted children, it was the true Christmas spirit. Peter Rolls's store in general, and the toy department in particular, were having what would be alluded to later in advertisements as an "unprecedented success."
Before Win came the folding chairs for "assistants" had all been broken or out of order. But (no doubt, said Sadie) because of some lingering suspicion that she might, after all, be an anti-sweat spy, the springs or hinges were mysteriously repaired throughout the department. By law any girl could sit down. By unwritten law she mustn't, yet there were the chairs as good as gold and fresh as paint. They were even pointed out to Win, but in the whirl of things the moment after she forgot their very existence and never had time to remember it again.
That third day in Toys was the most appalling she had known of all the long, wild days at Peter Rolls's since coming in as an extra holiday hand. Dozens of customers clamoured for her at once. Each female creature seemed to have as many hands as Briareus, all reaching for things they wanted, or gesticulating and brandishing money, or snatching for change. If each distracted girl had had half a dozen highly trained astral bodies with which to serve these terrible ladies, it would not have been enough. More ladies would have come.
Yet (Win noticed with wondering admiration) some of the girls, those most experienced and less easily rattled, did find opportunities to polish their nails and pat their
hair. They would turn as if to find something "in stock," stoop quickly, taking advantage of the crowd behind the counters, snatch out of their stockings tiny mirrors and bags of powder or rouge, and "fix themselves," while their anxious customers supposed they were diving for a toy. These were the girls who kept their own perfumed soap and scent bottles in their lockers and could afford becoming hats, whether or no they had money to buy new underclothes and stockings when the old ones gave out.