Miss Lupton received Grace amiably, asked her a few questions, and
pushed a blank toward her.
“We always require this; it’s just a matter of routine,” she explained,
and as Grace filled in the blank she looked at Irene and nodded her
approval of the candidate.
Miss Boardman, a woman of forty, short, plump and brisk in manner and
speech, surveyed Grace with full appreciation, remarking that Miss
Kirby had covered all the details.
“We’ll be ready for you Monday morning,” she said. Then she directed
Irene’s attention to a lady who had, she explained, inspected all the
garments in the shop and still lingered, a prey to uncertainty. “Miss
Flagg doesn’t seem to be getting anywhere with that woman. It’s a Mrs.
Bascomb from up in the state somewhere--Muncie or Anderson, or maybe
Delphi. She’s a new customer and the fussiest person I ever saw. Maybe
you can help Miss Flagg, Miss Kirby, but be careful not to rattle her.
Very glad to know you, Miss Durland. You will begin at twelve fifty;
Miss Kirby will explain about the bonuses and other little things.”
“Watch me work,” said Irene, her eyes upon Miss Flagg’s customer. “You
can sit right here.”
Without taking off her coat and hat Irene walked toward the customer
and clerk who were evidently in a hopeless deadlock. Grace saw the
slight gesture with which Irene signalled to Miss Flagg. The import of
the signal was evidently that Miss Flagg was to continue her attentions
to the lady from Muncie, Anderson or Delphi while Irene idly examined
the garments heaped on a table, with which Miss Flagg had been tempting
her difficult shopper. Irene picked out a coat, held it at arm’s
length, and slipped it on. Walking to a glass she passed back and forth
the better to observe the effect of the garment upon her own person.
Miss Flagg’s customer became interested, watching Irene enviously, and
the moment the girl divested herself of the garment she took it up.
The lady from Muncie, Anderson or Delphi exchanged a few words with
Irene; and again Irene put on the coat. Irene was soon discussing with
her the merits of other raiment which Miss Flagg produced from the show
cabinets. Grace watched intently, hearing nothing of the talk of the
trio, but interpreting the pantomime. Irene had evidently assumed the
role of adviser in the delicate matter of the lady’s choice. Presently
she took off her hat, disclosing the fact that she was a member of the
selling staff of the establishment. Two gowns having been added to the
wrap and the lady from the more northern provinces having been escorted
to the fitting room, Irene returned to Grace.
“Six hundred dollars worth,” she said, flicking a raveling from her
sleeve. “I’ll stay on the job till she’s given her shipping order. Miss
Flagg is one of our best saleswomen; but she just didn’t hit it off
with that woman. They were both tired and irritating each other. If I’d
butted in and taken her away from Miss Flagg that would have spoiled
everything. I saved the day by pretending I wasn’t interested in her at
all; but now she knows I belong here and she wants me to come back to
the fitting room and make sure her things are all right. All she needed
was a little coaxing and the right kind of flattery. You’d better not
wait unless you want to watch the show a while. There’s a convention of
women’s clubs in town and we’re likely to be rushed this afternoon.”
“I’ll run along,” said Grace. “And thank you ever so much.”
On her way to the elevator she passed a clerk who was patiently
answering the questions of a captious customer as to the merits of a
garment.
“I don’t know about this,” said the woman pecking at the silk lining
in the sleeve; “it looks cheap.”
“What’s the difference, lady,” exclaimed the girl, “nobody’s going to
notice the lining.”
Grace smiled. The girl’s phrase fastened itself in her memory. “What’s
the difference, lady?” It was susceptible of many interpretations and
applications not related to suits that sold for $19.50.
She left the store elated, feeling herself already an essential unit
of Shipley’s. The great lower room seemed larger than when she had
entered. She went into the book department and idled over the counters,
opening volumes that roused her interest. She had no intention of
relinquishing her interest in bookish things. She would test life,
probe into the heart of things, but she would hold fast to all that
she had gained in her two years at the university. She had been
impressed by what the worldly-wise Irene had said of the value of a
little learning in getting on. She meant to propose to her friend that
they attack French together; and there were many lines of reading she
intended to pursue with a view to covering the more important cultural
courses which she had been obliged to abandon. Grace rejoiced in her
sense of freedom; she was tremendously sure of herself.
When she reached home her mother was leaving for the first fall meeting
of the West End Literary Club which had held together for years in
spite of the deterioration of the neighborhood. Mrs. Durland made
much of her loyalty to the organization, of which she had been the
founder. While her old friends had dropped out when they moved away she
thought it her duty to fill up the membership with new arrivals in the
neighborhood. Women needed the inspiration of just such a society. She
had enrolled a number of young married women, some of them hardly more
than transients domiciled in boarding houses, with a view to keeping
them in touch with the best thought of the world. Ethel, sharing her
mother’s interest in all movements and devices for uplift, had acted as
her scout in discovering these recruits.
“Well, Grace, I hope--” Mrs. Durland began, gathering up a number of
magazines she was carrying to the meeting.
“I’ve done gone and done it, mother! I go to work at Shipley’s Monday
morning.”
“I was afraid you would,” said Mrs. Durland with a sigh. “You’re so
headstrong, Grace. With a little patience we’d have found something
more suitable--more in keeping----”
“Well, I may not like it. If I don’t I’ll change to something else, so
please don’t worry about it.”
Mrs. Durland had mislaid a glove; the loss of it overshadowed
immediately her daughter’s grievous error in accepting employment in a
department store. Grace found the glove and held the magazines while
her mother drew it on.
“The old security, the reticences and decencies of life have passed,”
said Mrs. Durland. Grace suspected that her mother was quoting from a
magazine article or a club paper. She declined an urgent invitation to
go to the meeting; she wanted to look over her clothes, she said.
“I hope you’ll not give up your interest in literature now that
you’re going to work. You should save a little time every day for
self-culture. There are some new books on that line I want you to read.
I sometimes think the poorer we are the more we lean on the things of
the spirit.”
“I’ve already decided to do some studying,” said Grace, who at the
moment didn’t feel the need of leaning on anything. She was relieved
that her mother, preoccupied with the club meeting, had so lightly
passed over the matter of her engagement at Shipley’s.
“If I’m not back at five-thirty, put on that pot-roast,” said Mrs.
Durland from the door. “It’s all fixed in the ice-box. And if that
collector comes about the coal bill tell him I’ll call at the office
the next time I’m down town. That last load we had was full of slate
and I’m not going to pay the bill till they make it right.”