The girls, too, were often rough in their ways and pushed each other rudely about.  They were surlily suspicious sometimes and seemed temperamentally unable to trust one another, but they were good-natured at heart.  “Snap and let snap” was the unwritten law in Toyland, and though they all squabbled among themselves, if a girl were ill or had bad news her companions were ready in an instant to help or console.

They mimicked Win and gave her the same nickname she had gained downstairs, “Miss Thank-you,” “Beg-your-pardon,” and “If-you-please.”  But soon she found herself popular, and saw the girls, and even the men, adopting the gentler ways she brought among them.  They seemed half unconsciously to fall into the soft manner they made fun of, which was a score for Win.  Besides, there was Cupid, and he alone, she thought, would have been worth the move from Blouses into Toys.

Cupid was an errand boy, employed to run with messages from one department to another; but, though in Toyland there were some dolls larger, there were none more beautiful than he.  His real name happened to be Billy Slate, but he rejoiced in several others more appropriate such as “Bud,” “Christmas Card,” and “Valentine” That of “Cupid” was added to the list by Miss Child, who had more scientific, mythological knowledge of the youth in question than any one else at the Hands perhaps, though most of the others could boast a more intimate personal acquaintance with him in modern life.

Billy, alias “Bud,” et cetera, was a permanent fixture at Peter Rolls’s, having been in his present position for some time and possessing no ambition to better it, though he had reached the mature age of “twelve, going on thirteen.”  He had resisted the blandishments of all the prettiest girls in the store, but for some reason fell a victim to Miss Child at first sight; perhaps because she was English (his parents came from Manchester), or perhaps because she treated him, not like a little boy, but like a man and an equal.  He adored her promptly and passionately, and she responded, out of which arose a situation.

Cupid sometimes received presents of violets or Malmaison pinks from admiring customers, gifts which he spurned with the weary scorn of a matinee idol for love letters, but had been willing to barter for sums varying from one cent to five, according to the freshness of the flowers.  When Win drifted into his life, however, all tribute which Cupid received was laid upon her altar.  He would take no money—­her smiling thanks were worth more to him than the brightest copper coins from others—­and an offer of candy was politely but firmly refused.

“Pooh!  Miss Child, I can get all of that stuff I want, on my face, off the girls in the candy dep,” he explained with a blase air.  “You keep it for you and your friends, and I’ll get you more.  I’m tired of sweet things myself.”