They're all defective. Don't give them to any steady customers."
"I won't. Don't worry."
Rose was the elder Friedrich. She gave the orders. She was a round-faced, stockily built girl with thick black brows. Sylvia was very thin but quite pretty. She wore her hair carefully waved and kept her nails brilliantly coated with deep-rose nail liquid. She had a boy friend. Rose had none.
Between five-thirty and seven the Syl-Rose Shop was in the hands of a sixteen-year-old cousin of the Friedrichs. It didn't matter so much. That was the slow part of the day. At seven each evening one Friedrich girl returned for two hours. It was Sylvia's chance tonight. Rose was remembering that Max would meet Sylvia and bring her home. Nobody ever brought Rose home on her working nights. The thought of Max suggested kindred subjects. Rose turned to Lillian.
"Who gave you your pretty flower?" she asked.
"I ketched him up at the flower-man's all by myself," said Lillian.
"Huh?" Sylvia stared at Lillian. "At a dollar a throw I'm not buying them myself."
"Oh, do you think a dollar is a lot for a large chrysanthemum?" Lillian's eyes said plainly that they were surprised. "Have you ever heard of chrysanthemums for less?"
"Sure I have." Sylvia pushed back her plate and left the room. There was more she wanted to say on the subject, but that could be done at a later date. She was pressed for time at the moment.
