“You see,” Betty explained, “the girl comes in, and we ask her questions. Then if I don’t like her I take my pencil from behind my ear, and rap against my palm with it. If Nancy doesn’t like her she says, ‘You’re losing a hairpin, Betty.’ If we like her we rub our hands together.”
“It’s a good system,” Billy said, “but I don’t see why Nancy doesn’t take her pencil from behind her ear, or why you don’t say to her—”
“I wouldn’t put a pencil behind my ear,” Nancy said scathingly.
“And she never loses a hairpin,” Betty cut in. “If I approve this system of signals I don’t see what you have to complain of. Nancy couldn’t get a pencil behind her ear even if she wanted to. It’s only a criminal ear like mine that accommodates a pencil.”
“Speaking of ears,” Dick said, looking at his watch, “let’s get on with the beauty show. I have to take my mother to see Boris to-night, and she has an odd notion of being on time.”
“Aw right,” Betty said. “Here’s Michael. Bring in the first one immediately, Michael.”
“Sure an’ I will that, Miss Pope.” The old family servitor of the Thorndykes pulled a deliberate lid over a twinkling left eye by way of acknowledging the presence of his young master. “There’s quite a display of thim this time.”
The first applicant, guided thus by Michael, appeared on the threshold and stood for a moment framed in the low doorway. Seeing 27 two gentlemen present she carefully arranged her expression to meet that contingency. She was a blonde girl with masses of doubtfully tinted hair and no chin, but her eyes were very blue and matched a chain of turquoise beads about her throat, and she radiated a peculiar vitality.
Betty took her pencil from behind her ear.