"I will," was the somewhat haughty and dignified reply, intended to
repulse the low-bred fellow's offensive familiarity.

"Highty-tighty!" broke in Michael, in an undertone, meant only for
the maiden's ear. "Tip-top airs don't pass for much in these 'ere
parts. Do you know that, Miss Lizzy Glenn, or whatever your name may
be? We're all on the same level here. Girls that make slop shirts
and trowsers haven't much cause to stand on their dignity. Ha! ha!"

The seamstress turned away quickly, and walked back to the desk
where Berlaps stood writing.

"Be kind enough, sir, if you please, to hand me three more of your
fine shirts," she said, in a firm, but respectful tone.

Berlaps understood the reason of this application to him, and it
caused him to call out to his salesman something after this homely
fashion--

"Why, in thunder, Michael, don't you let the girls that come to the
store, alone? Give Lizzy three shirts, and be done with your
confounded tom-fooleries! The store is no place for them."

The young woman remained quietly beside the desk of Berlaps until
Michael came up and handed her the shirts. She then walked quickly
toward the door, but did not reach it before Michael, who had glided
along behind one of the counters.

"You're a fool! And don't know which side your bread's buttered," he
said, with a half leer, half scowl.