"You expect me to believe I'd have any chance of winning a millionaire's daughter if I were a ribbon-clerk in a dry-goods store?"
"The best in the world. The ribbon-clerk is her social equal; he calls her Mary and she calls him Joe."
"Done with you: me for the ribbon counter. Anything else?"
"The storekeepers aren't apt to employ you at first; they'll be suspicious of you."
"They will be afterwards, all right. However—?"
"So you must simply call on them—walk in, locate the boss and tell him: 'I'm looking for employment.' Don't press it; just say it and get out."
"No trouble whatever about that; it's always that way when I ask for work."
"They'll send for you before long, when they make up their minds that you're a decent, moral young man; for they know you'll draw trade. And every Sunday—"
"I know: church!"
"Absolutely.... Pick out the one the rich folks go to. Go in quietly and do just as they do: stand up and kneel, look up the hymns and sing, just when they do. Be careful not to sing too loud, or anything like that: just do it all modestly, as if you were used to it. Better go to church here two or three times and get the hang of it...."