And the tall girl? She too seemed rather strange. She appeared always on her guard. “As if she were speaking a piece and feared she might forget,” was Norma’s thought.
Still, in the end all must have gone well for, as she passed her on the way out, the tall girl flashed Norma a look that said plainer than words. “See? That’s how you do it.”
Whatever may have been Norma’s reactions to this they were quickly lost, for suddenly she realized that the black eyes of the examining officer were upon her and that her name was being called. Her time had come. Swallowing hard, she rose to step into the booth.
“You are Norma Kent,” said the examiner, flashing her a friendly smile. “And your home is—”
“Greenvale, Illinois,” was the prompt reply. The date of her birth, when she entered and left grade school, high school, and college, and other details followed.
“And now,” said the examiner, leaning forward, “what can you do?”
“I—I really don’t know,” the girl faltered. “I’ve never worked at anything.”
“Ah! So you’ve never worked? Can you cook?”
“Not very well.”
“I see.” The examiner studied Norma’s face.