Win was burning with curiosity. What two or three talismanic words could the red-haired girl have whispered so quietly, so secretively, to change in a second the superintendent's decision? It was almost like freemasonry. You whispered to the hangman, and he, realizing that you were a member, took the noose off your neck!
Alas, if Father refused her services, as he almost surely would, she had no such magic charm to make him change his mind! There was certainly a mystery, a secret password that did the trick; but the lion tamer, though a newcomer in this business like herself, appeared to know or guess, and bet that it "wasn't in her line."
Too late to ask questions! Her time had come. The red-haired girl, looking prettier than before because of a bright flush on her sallow face, pranced away, head triumphantly up, and a key and a queer little book in her hand.
Before Win realized what was happening she stood before the big, lighted window, longing though not daring to rest her trembling elbows on the counter. The cherubic yet keen blue eyes were staring into hers with the oddest expression she had ever seen. If the man had not been an important official, far above her (he would have thought)
in position, Win might have fancied that he was afraid of her, afraid of something which he half expected, half dreaded, wishing to avert it, yet likely to be mortified if it did not come.
"I must be out of my mind," she told herself, at the same time telling him that she desired an engagement as an extra hand.
"What references?" he inquired, with the mechanical intonation of one who has put the same question thousands of times.
"I—haven't any," stammered Win. "I'm lately over from England––"
"You don't need to mention that," broke in the superintendent. "I know London. Have you worked in any of the big department stores there—Harrods' or Selfridge's?" He looked, Win thought (clinging to a straw of hope), as if he were not unwilling to help her.
"No, none. I was a model for Nadine. I'm quick at doing figures––"