The Hands needed more
hands than any of the other stores.
When Win was just about to say to herself, "That's the one thing I
couldn't do," she remembered Miss Seeker's words. Miss Rolls ruled her
father and mother socially. Peter senior was allowed to show his nose
in the place only about once a year. Mrs. and Miss Rolls never bought
a pin there. Young Peter didn't bother, but wanted to be a
philanthropist. In fact, you would, apparently, be far more likely to
meet a member of the Rolls family in any other shop than their own.
Instead of saying that she could not, Win said: "Why shouldn't I?" She
told herself that in a vast house of business which employed over two
thousand salespeople she would be a needle in a haystack--a needle
with a number, not a name. "I'll go and ask for a place," she answered
her own question.
But almost she hoped that she would not succeed. If she tried, failure
would not be her fault.
CHAPTER VIII
NO. 2884
Morning and girl were gray with cold as Win hovered before the vast
expanse of plate glass which made of Peter Rolls's department store a
crystal palace. Customers would not be admitted for an hour, yet the
lovely wax ladies and the thrilling wax men in the window world wore
the air of never having stopped doing their life work since they were
appointed to it.
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