The two barmaids at the Golden Bar were taking things easily. It was a dull hour of the day for business, and Bertha’s turn off. They were pretty girls, these two barmaids, Sarah Jones (nom de guerre, Ruby), and Maria Simpson (nom de guerre, Florence), and they were well, even richly dressed, and, for their work, well-mannered.
For the Golden Bar was no common public-house or speculation in immorality, but a commercial undertaking for providing the best of everything in the best way at the best prices. And to choose the three prettiest barmaids he could find was part of the proprietor’s project.
Ruby was languidly polishing a glass that did not want it, on the off chance that the Boss should come in and find her doing nothing. Florence was similarly occupied.
“I’m getting about tired of this place,” said Ruby.
“So am I,” yawned Florence.
“It was not so bad before Bertha came; one could have a bit of fun and get a few presents. But she is downright mean. She grabs everybody.”
“That’s it. She grabs everybody, and what they see in her I can’t think. With her snub nose and fish eyes, and the airs she gives herself, one would fancy she was really what some of the chaps call her, ‘the Queen of Sydney.’ Now, there is that old squatter from Way-back, I had him as safe as possible till this creature came.”
“I know you had, dear, and I saw that same man offer her this morning a diamond ring worth fifty pounds if it was worth a penny. And she would not even take it.”
“I wish he would try me, I’d take it fast enough. But that is the way with that sly minx. She will not take things herself, and prevents others. Who is she, to put on airs? I suppose she is holding out to make a big haul.”
“I tell you what I think,” exclaimed Florence; “we are just wasting ourselves here, taking my lady’s leavings! We might as well be two old scarecrows for all the chance we get! And the way she makes up is something scandalous! Why, I’m sure half her figure comes away when she strips. A little powder, I don’t say, or a pull-back, but when it comes to getting inside a dressmaker’s dummy and walking about with that, I say it’s a fraud!”