ent half of the legally
allotted hour, the time to be repaid them later, so that after
Christmas they might take once a week an hour and a half in the middle
of the day instead of an hour. Those in the know had learned that, as
on Christmas Eve most of the extra hands received with their pay
envelope a week's notice to quit, they, at least, never got back the
half-hours lent. As for the permanent hands, it would amount to a
black mark secretly put against their names if they dared lay claim to
the time owing. Win, however, was blissfully ignorant of this, and
though she was tired, the arrangement seemed fair to her. As she got
up from the table to spend fifteen minutes in the rest room she was
almost happy in the thought of having the sardine for a neighbour.

Two of the girls who had come up from the bargain square with her, on
the return of Miss Stein and their other seniors, looked after Win as
she passed out of the restaurant.

"There goes Miss Thank-you-I-beg-your-pardon," said the young lady who
had wondered if 2884 were a spy. "She's got a smile as if she was
invited to tea with the Vanderbilts."

"By this time next week I bet she smiles the wrong side of her mouth
if she puts on any airs with Dora Stein."

"Hum-m, yeh. Unless what you think's so, and she's on the right side
o' Father."

It was true, as the girls had warned the new hand, when six
o'clock--closing time--came, you "couldn't chase the dames out." The
salespeople began to put things away, and some even ventured to remind
customers that the shop shut at six; but ladies who believed
themselves possessed of the kindest hearts on earth pleaded that they
must have _one_ more thing, only _just_ one, to complete their list
for that day. Those who were too cross and tired to think about hearts
or anything else except their own nerves, made no excuses at all, but
demanded what they wanted or threatened a report to the floorwalker if
a saleswoman were "disagreeable."

"Look at them!" snapped Miss Stein, maddened by a consignment of more
blouses from the bankrupt sale (which had brought upon Horrocks the
gibes of the head buyer), blouses without sashes, which not even
Poiret could have turned into "Pavlovas." "Look at them, the fat, old,
self-satisfied lemons, with their hats and their dresses and their
squeezed-in corsets and shoes, and even their back hair, bought in
sweat shops like ours! Pills, going to their homes to say their
prayers, and then, fu