One had a novel by Laura Jean Libbey, the other an
old-fashioned tale by Mary J. Holmes, to while away odd minutes of
leisure; but it appealed to the imagination of neither that any or all
of the girls flitting in and out might be eligible heroines for their
favourite authors, stolen at birth from parent millionaires,
qualifying through pathetic struggles with poverty to become the
brides of other millionaires, or, perhaps, to win an earl or duke.
All the regularly engaged hands had long ago shut up their hats and
cloaks in prison and gone about their business. It was only the extras
who were arriving at this late hour to show their numbers and claim
their lockers. There were comparatively few amateurs. Most of the
girls had had shop experience, but greenhorns betrayed ignorance as
they entered. To them, shortly and succinctly, were explained the
rules: the system of "stubs" dealt out to newcomers as they gave their
numbers and had lockers assigned them--stubs to be religiously kept
for the protection of property from false claimants; the working of a
slot machine, in which must be slipped a card, and the moment of the
morning and midday arrival thus recorded with ruthless exactitude
(twenty-five cents docked off your pay if you were late), and other
odds and ends of routine information, such as the hours at which
lockers might or might not be opened without the presentation of
special passes.
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