But Mr. Bill did not wait to hear about the minimum wage. "Come on, Joe!" he called over his shoulder and hurried away, not to his father's office where Joe thought they were bound, but to the basement.
The elevator was full of shoppers and Mr. Bill was separated from Joe by a blue serge suit and a plaid gingham frock, so that Joe could not ask Mr. Bill what on earth was eating him, but an inkling of Mr. Bill's suspicion had crept into his mind. He was as eager as Mr. Bill to learn if there was anything in that suspicion.
When they reached the basement, Mr. Bill made a dash for the hardware and stood for a moment surveying the department with eager searching eyes. Half a dozen customers were hesitating over various pans and kettles, and as many clerks were waiting, with more or less patience, for them to make their decisions. Mr. Bill and Joe had never seen those customers before but they had seen the clerks. They recognized each one of the half dozen. But Larsen had said there was a new girl. Joe turned to ask Mr. Walker where she was when Mr. Bill pulled his sleeve, and pointed a shaking finger toward the corner where the brooms and mops were. A girl was standing beside them, the brooms concealing fully half of her black frock.
"There she is!" hissed Mr. Bill.
Joe swung around and stared. There she was, the Mary Smith Mr. Larsen had mentioned, the new employee. She was small and dressed in black in accordance with the rule of the store. Her hair was pulled back from her forehead and twisted in a hard knot on her neck. She wore glasses, and so far as Joe could tell, she did not look like any one he had ever seen before.
"Huh!" muttered Mr. Bill in deep disgust. "Larsen was right. She does look like nothing, doesn't she? My hunch wasn't worth much, but just to make sure let's have a word with old Walker."
When they found Mr. Walker in the rear of the department, he agreed that Mary Smith had no style, that she would never be noticed in a crowd, but he insisted that as a salesgirl she already showed promise.
"Only have to tell her once," he declared. "And brains are of more use than style in this department. I think she'll make good!" As if Mr. Bill cared what she would make. "But since I made such a bad guess about little Miss Gilfooly I haven't had as much confidence in my psychology. I never in the world would have taken her for a queen, so I won't say too much about this Mary Smith. Say," he begged, as Mr. Bill would have darted off, "have they found Miss Gilfooly yet? There's romance! Can you believe it? I declare, I was just about ready to think that there wasn't any in the world when along came that frizzle-headed black man and bang! we were off! It was a good stunt for the department. You'd never believe how our sales jumped. Too bad about the little queen! I hope she's all right!" Tessie would have been surprised to hear how worried he seemed to be about her.
"I hope she is!" agreed Mr. Bill, his eyes following Mary Smith as she moved from the brooms to the carpet-sweepers.
Joe nudged him sharply, and asked him if he were going to his father's office or should Joe go alone?