"Well, are you ready to pay up?" asked Dad, looking from one to the other of the travellers. "Ninety-nine dollars and sixty-eight cents, please."
"But we haven't any money," explained Betsy breathlessly. "We started off in such a hurry and—"
"You should not have come Down Town if you had no money," muttered Dad reprovingly.
"How dare you be without money?" cried the Queen, springing up in a perfect fury. "How dare you come Down Town without money?"
"Now, don't get frenzied, Fi Nance," begged Dad, patting her anxiously on the hand. "They can easily make some money, you know." His words seemed to soothe the Queen.
"That's so," she mused thoughtfully. "Anybody can make money Down Town, if they just try hard enough." Almost pleasantly she turned to Betsy. "You, my child," purred the Queen, resuming her seat, "you, may start as a cash girl. I myself was a cash girl once," she went on dreamily, "and now look at me—Fi Nance, Queen of Down Town. I'm simply made of money!"
Betsy looked, and shuddered a little as she did so. She was about to tell the Queen that she had no desire to be a cash girl, when Fi Nance haughtily held up her hand for silence. "The lad shall be an office boy," she decided imperiously. "Who did you say he was?"
"A Prince," growled the Hungry Tiger.
"A dry goods store will be the best place for him," murmured Dad. "What can you two do?" he demanded, looking over his specs at the barber and sad singer of Rash.
"Anything! Anything!" whined the frightened prisoners, bumping their heads together in their anxiety to please.