“Please sit down,” he said. He handed to her the wooden arm-chair as if it had been a throne. Nellie Stone bent frowning over her day-book.
“Now let me see,” said the young man, seriously, with perfect deference of manner, only belied by the rollicking admiration in his eyes. “You have never held a position in a factory before, I think?”
“No,” replied Ellen.
“There is at present only one vacancy that I can think of,” said Flynn, “and that does not pay very much, but there is always a chance to rise for a smart hand. I am sure you will be that,” he added, smiling at her.
Ellen did not return the smile. “I shall be contented to begin for a little, if there is a chance to rise,” she said.
“There's a chance to rise to eighteen dollars a week,” said Flynn. He smiled again, but it was like smiling at seriousness itself. Ellen's downright, searching eyes upon his face seemed almost to forbid the fact of her own girlish identity.
“What is the job you have for me?” said she.
“Tying strings in shoes,” answered Flynn. “Easy enough, only child's play, but you won't earn more than three dollars a week to begin with.”
“I shall be quite satisfied with that,” said Ellen. “When shall I come?”
“Why, to-morrow morning; no, to-morrow is Friday. Better come next Monday and begin the week. That will give you one day more off, and the hot wave a chance to get past.” Flynn spoke facetiously. It was a very hot day, and the air in the office like a furnace. He wiped his forehead, to which the dark rings of hair clung. The girl at the desk glanced around adoringly at him.