“We don’t expect pay,” Georgia explained, “and the first day we come we’d just be extras, watching to see what our duties would be.”
“Don’t be silly, Mr. Cannon,” urged Fluffy, who was never in the least daunted by opposition. “We’ll accomplish more in an hour than these poor dragged-out girls ever do—even if we don’t understand the difficult art of clerking,” she added maliciously. “And they’ll do more in their afternoons, after they’ve had a chance to rest. What you want is your money’s worth, isn’t it? The best service for the smallest wages. Don’t——”
“See here,” Mr. Cannon cut her short, “let’s have a little talk. What did you come here for to-day?” He pointed a pudgy finger at Fluffy, who explained once more, in picturesque phrases, the idea they had had in coming to interview him.
“You say you’ve been a waitress?”
Fluffy nodded, winking solemnly again at Betty.
“You’re not a labor organizer?”
With equal solemnity she denied the charge.
“Far as I can see, you’re more or less luny. If you want to, you can try. Come to-day at twelve. If you get along, maybe the others can take hold. Some o’ my girls are fagged, for sure, and if your little friends, as you call them, come in, that’ll help some. I’ve always said,” added Mr. Cannon proudly, “that if I could once get the college trade to swing my way, I could keep it. Honest values for cash is my motto.” And with a curt little nod he started off.
“Wait!” Fluffy arrested his progress. “You mean I’m to come and not the others?”
Mr. Cannon nodded. “As the most likely specimen. I don’t believe in beginning any new experiment on too sumptoos a scale.” This time he was irrevocably gone.