The old man said no more. But as they walked away, he squared his bent shoulders and took on for a time quite a military air.
CHAPTER VI
THE PLACE OF CHANCE
At eleven o’clock that morning Jeanne found herself seated beside the blue-eyed, laughing Merry in the front row of chairs of a big, bare salesroom. Before them was a long, high platform. Back of the platform, piled to the ceiling, was an odd assortment of boxes, bales, bags, trunks and bundles, the week’s accumulation of articles lost or rejected in the offices of a great express company.
The place was half filled when they arrived. All the front seats were taken save two. From these, hats mysteriously disappeared as Merry approached. She nodded Jeanne to one chair and chose another for herself.
“Those men saved seats for us,” Jeanne whispered in surprise. “Do ladies always get front seats?”
“Never!” Merry shook her head vigorously. “Ladies are no good. They bid too high. After that they make a fuss because they’ve robbed themselves.”
“But you?”
“I’m no lady! Me?” The Irish girl drew herself up proudly. “I’m a buyer. They all know me, these men.
“Look, Weston!” She had turned to the man at her left. “This is Petite Jeanne. She’s going to buy, just one lot. You’ll lay off, won’t you?”
“Does she belong to the union?” The ruddy-faced German grinned.