“Well, you help Miss Brewster, if she needs any help,” said Flynn, as he went away.
“We don't have any misses in this shop,” said the girl to Ellen, with sarcastic emphasis.
“I don't care anything about being called miss,” replied Ellen, picking up another piece of string.
“What's your first name?”
“Ellen.”
“Oh, land! I know who you be. You read that essay at the high-school graduation. I was there. Well, I shouldn't think you would want to be called miss if you feel the way you said you did in that.”
“I don't want to,” said Ellen.
The girl gave a swift, comprehensive glance at her as her fingers manipulated the knots.
“You won't earn twenty cents a week at the rate you're workin',” she said; “look at me.”
“I don't believe you worked any faster than I do when you hadn't been here any longer,” retorted Ellen.