"I want something cheap and green," she explained to the manager. "I form 'em then to suit myself." Her eyes, small, quick, and decided, flashed along the row of candidates, and selected Daisy without so much as one glance at the next girl beyond. "There's my article, Mrs. Goldsmith," she said.
Mrs. Goldsmith shook her head and whispered something.
The wealthy lady frowned. "Seventy-five?" she said. "That's ridiculous."
"My Gott!" exclaimed Mrs. Goldsmith. "Ain't she fresh? Loog at her. Ain't she a fresh, sweet liddle-thing?"
"Well, she looks fresh enough," said the lady, "but I don't go on looks. But I'll soon find out if what you say is true. And then I'll pay you seventy-five. Meanwhile"—as Mrs. Goldsmith began to protest—"there's nothing in it—nothing in it."
"But I haf your bromice—to pay up."
The lady bowed grandly.
"You are sugh an old customer—" Thus Mrs. Goldsmith explained her weakness in yielding.
Daisy, carrying her few possessions in a newspaper bundle, walked lightly at the side of her new employer.
"My name is Mrs. Holt, Daisy," said the lady. "And I think we'll hit things off, if you always try to do just what I tell you."