"You go down through the alphabet," Polly advised him, rather proud
to be able to answer him so promptly. "Bars, cars, fars, jars--that
way, you know. How I found out is that Sister Winnie writes so much
poetry."

"She's a great kid," laughed Johnny. "Where is she?"

"Round here some place, giving orders to Sammy Chirp. Why are you
loafing this afternoon? You're supposed to be making five thousand
dollars an hour, but I don't see any chance for it here."

"It's a holiday," he retorted. "You're loafing yourself. I see it's
on the program that you're to sell a quarter's worth of violets and
a smile, for five dollars a throw at the boutonniere booth. Notice
how I said boutonniere?"

"You got it out of a book," charged Polly disdainfully. "I called
Constance over from the candy booth to take my place because a gray-
haired rusher came back seven times to have me pin violets on his
coat--and I couldn't smile any more. There he goes now. That's his
second trip for Constance."

"This is a cruel world. I suppose it would fuss her all up if I
dropped him out of a window," Johnny observed wistfully.

"Constance doesn't need help. Just watch her!" And Polly grinned
appreciatively as Constance, recognizing and sorting the tottering
lady-killer at a glance, took his money handed him a nosegay and a
pin, and returned to the back of the booth to arrange her stock: