“Sure, but he’s one of the Mexicans. I use a crew of ’em—professional pickers. A stupid lot too!”
“Don’t you need any more pickers?” Connie persisted.
“I need experienced pickers, sure. My fruit is ripening fast and if I don’t get it marketed, I’ll lose a nice profit.”
“Then may we have the job?” Veve asked hopefully. She did not like Mr. Wingate, but she thought he might be nicer to the Brownies than to Juan.
“Listen!” the man exclaimed. “I told you once! I hire only experienced pickers. I can’t be bothered with a bunch of fairies—”
“Brownies,” said Connie, flushing. “And we are dependable. Ask Miss Gordon.”
“Run along,” Mr. Wingate ordered. “I have work to do and you’re bothering me.”
Thus dismissed, Veve and Connie dejectedly walked back to the main road. After all their hopes and plans, they were not to be allowed to pick cherries. It was very discouraging.
“Never mind, Veve,” her friend said to cheer her. “We’ll make money when we sell the crazy quilt.”