I
“I mustn’t seem to be too much interested in you,” said Irene when
Grace reported for duty at Shipley’s on Monday morning. “I can’t play
favorites and it wouldn’t do to make the other girls jealous. The
first few days everything will seem strange but all you have to do is
to stand around and keep your eyes open. Be nice to everybody--that’s
the card to play. One girl in a department can make all the rest
uncomfortable. Miss Boardman’s a little sharp sometimes--but never talk
back! She knows her business and prides herself on keeping away ahead
of her quota of sales. The management is strong for _esprit de corps_
and there’s a social club that’s supposed to promote that sort of
thing. There’ll be a few dances during the winter and a theatre party
and a few little things like that. You won’t mind them. They’re really
good fun.”
Grace was number eighteen. Her investiture with a number was the only
real shock she experienced in taking her place in Shipley’s. One of her
new associates who was instructing her in the routine, which began with
inspection of the stock, tightening of buttons, the repair of minor
damages incurred in the handling of garments, addressed her casually as
“Eighteen” as though that had been Grace’s name bestowed in baptism.
For an instant Grace resented her numerical designation; it was almost
as though she had been robbed of her identity. Miss Boardman had given
her a quick looking over to satisfy herself that the new employee met
the store’s requirements as to raiment. She nodded her approval of the
frock of dark taffeta which Grace had worn to simple afternoon affairs
at college and told her to watch the other girls and lend a hand where
she could.
Miss Boardman was beyond question a person of strong executive talent.
Though burdened with much desk work as the head of the department,
nothing escaped her watchful eye on the floor confided to her care.
By eleven o’clock the ready-to-wear presented a scene of greatest
animation. The day was fine and a throng of out-of-town customers,
lured by double page advertisements of fall apparel in the newspapers,
were attacking the department in dauntless battalions. Grace was
constantly on the alert, keeping the much-examined stock in order,
conducting customers to the trying-on room, and otherwise making
herself useful to the experienced clerks.
A spectacled old lady fortified with a handbag appeared and surveyed
the scene of confusion with dismay.
“Eighteen, see what that lady wants,” said Miss Boardman as she hurried
by.
“What is it, please, that I can show you?” asked Grace, feeling her
heart thump as she realized that she had accosted her first customer.
She smiled encouragingly and the old lady returned the smile.
“I want two suits--a gray and a blue, cut as nearly like this thing I
have on as possible. I’ve written my exact measurements on this card,
so don’t jump at me with a tape-line. And I want a plain long coat for
rough weather--something serviceable and unfashionable. You _look_ like
an intelligent girl, so I don’t expect you to show me anything in red
or green. And don’t tell me what they’re wearing in Paris, London or
New York--, as though _I_ cared! I pay cash, so there’ll be no time
lost in looking up my credit card.”
Grace placed a chair for her singular customer, took hurried counsel of
Irene and was soon in the throes of her first sale. The little old lady
asked few questions but her inquiries were much to the point.
“Show me only good quality,” she said, tossing aside a skirt after
asking its price. “You know perfectly well it can’t be wool for that
money, and the color will run the first time it gets rained on.”
“This,” began Grace, “is genuine home-spun, hand-wove----”
“That’s better. This will do for the blue. Find a gray of similar
style.”
The gray was more difficult than the blue. She hadn’t wanted a mixed
weave but a plain gray, which was not in stock. Grace warmed to her
work, praising the quality of a gray with a misty heather mixture.
Holding the coat at arm’s length and becoming eloquent as to the fine
quality of the garment, Grace turned to find the customer regarding her
with a whimsical smile.
“My dear child, you do that very well. How long have you been here?”
she demanded.
Grace colored. “This is my first day,” she confessed. The old lady
seemed greatly amused at her discomfiture. Her alert eyes brightened
behind her glasses.
“Am I your first customer? Well, you’re going to get on. You’ve made
me change my mind and not many people ever do that. That heather tone
really pleases me better than the plain smooth cloth I had in mind and
I’ll take it.”
The customer explained that she walked in all weathers, and wanted
warmth, not style, in the topcoat with loose sleeves which she
described succinctly. Grace produced half a dozen such coats, one of
which her customer chose immediately. She slipped it on, said the
sleeves were too short, and Irene passing along opportunely said that
nothing could be easier than to let out the sleeve the required two
inches.
“Be sure she’s perfectly satisfied before she leaves,” whispered Irene.
“She looks like real money.”
The old lady who looked like real money was watching attentively an
evening gown which was being displayed before a smartly-dressed young
woman on the further side of the room. She drew out a memorandum book
and turned over the leaves.
“I’ll wait a moment to see whether that woman over there buys that
gown. You might find out the measurements, if it will do for a
thirty-six I’ll take it for a niece of mine in Evansville. She’s very
fond of that rose color.”
The rose colored gown was rejected a moment later by the lady who had
been considering it and Grace laid it before her customer.
“My niece is just about your height and build, and has your coloring.
I’d like to see that on you!”
Grace asked the nearest clerk whether there was any objection to
meeting this unlooked for request. Certainly not, though there was a
model for such purposes. The old lady who looked like real money didn’t
care to see the model in the gown and frankly said so. She expressed
her gratification when Grace paraded before her in the gray and ivory
fitting room. The price was three hundred dollars.
“Thank you, I’ll take it.”
Grace got out of the gown as quickly as possible, and presented the
garments already chosen for final approval. The old lady who looked
like real money produced from her satchel a checkbook and a fountain
pen.
The total was six hundred and ninety dollars. Grace regarded the bit
of paper with awe; it was the largest check she had ever seen. The
customer wrote out the shipping directions for her niece’s gown,
screwed the cap on her pen, took the cash-sale slip Grace gave her and
tucked it carefully away.
“You’ve been very nice to me. Thank you very much.” She smilingly
extended her hand. “Let this be a little secret between us!”
The secret was a ten dollar bill. The little old lady who really didn’t
look like real money was already in the elevator and Grace turned with
relief to Irene, who inspected the office end of the cash-sale slip,
and read aloud the signature on the check.
“Beulah Reynolds--you certainly drew a prize! I never saw her before
but you’ve heard of her. She belongs to the old Hoosier nobility. Her
people landed before the Indians left. She’s lived all over the world
and has just come back here and bought a house on Washington Boulevard.
I read a piece about her in the paper. If she tipped you ten dollars
it’s a good sign. Don’t you be squeamish about taking tips--it’s all
perfectly right and it won’t happen often. Don’t let your good luck
turn your head; there’s a lady coming now who looks as though she lived
on lemons. Pass the sugar and see what you can do with her.”