"Oh, Gretta, what is that?" laughed Happie. "Hexe, a witch, in German,—I see! I'm not afraid of his hurting himself, but I do wish he'd go."
After a while the man arose to his great height and slowly walked down the room. He paused at the piano, moved one hand over the keys as though he would have struck them, did not, put on his drooping hat, removed it instantly, turned and bowed to the young maids of the tea room and departed.
There was a lull in business in the middle of the afternoon; it revived between four and five, and at six, when Polly pulled close the curtains of the window and locked the door, it being the hour at which Mrs. Scollard had insisted the business of the day should end, there were five tired, but triumphant girls who drew five long breaths and looked at one another.
"What a day!" cried Happie. "Just as busy as we could be, and look at my fudge!"
"How can we, when it's all gone except those crumbly bits?" inquired Polly.
"And all the books out, only those four, and they had the prettiest bindings!" added Laura.
"We never could keep it up every day like this. If we could what would become of the flat?" asked Gretta.
"Oh, well, of course it won't keep up like this! This is holiday time. If we succeed we shall have a quiet little business at other times. Let's count up!" Margery produced her cash box as she spoke, her face flushed and excited.
She piled bills, half dollars, quarters, dimes and nickels separately, and counted the cheering heaps. "Thirty-eight dollars and sixty cents!" she cried triumphantly. "And that does not include the rent of books, for that isn't paid till they are returned. There are forty-six books out—that makes two dollars and thirty cents more. Oh, I wonder how much of this is profit? My goodness, Happie, I wonder what rent we pay?"