"Me, in diamonds!" I gasped. The idea was staggering. Here I was, just 17, fresh out of high school, holding down my first job as a temporary salesgirl during the Christmas rush at Richardson's Ltd., by far the most imposing jewelry store in our city.

But Mr. McPherson, the personnel manager, really meant it: "You've been doing nicely in the basement department and they need a replacement in diamonds. Report there in the morning."

My mother sighed in dismay when I broke the news that night. "Diamonds? Dear me. Well, I suppose that's better than china. At least diamonds don't break." I was on the gawky side and was the despair of my mother, who allowed me to set the table only under her supervision because dishes had a way of slipping through my fingers. "Well, do be careful, dear," were her last words as she kissed me good-night.

The job was terribly important to both of us. Mother was a widow, and we had barely enough to live on in those grim Depression years. After graduation, I had spent the summer and fall going the rounds of stores and offices where dozens of more qualified applicants had been turned down before me. Finally I had landed the temporary job at Richardson's, thanks largely to the neat navy-blue suit Mother had rushed to finish in time for my interview.

In the subterranean area I found a vocation. There it didn't matter that I was a poor speller and lacking in manual dexterity. What mattered was that I could sell things just by listening to people and finding out what they really wanted. By the end of the first week the head of the department was complimenting me. By the end of the second she was saying good-bye.

"It's an honor, you know," she told me. "As a rule we keep the extras down here and send our regular people upstairs. Mr. McPherson wants a runner, a quick, neat girl who won't lazy about."

The diamond department, heart and center of the store, handled both precious stones and the better lines of costume jewelry. It ran the full length of one side of the main floor, bounded at one end by a big display window. Next to the window came the counters and showcases, then two small cubicles for the private showing of gems. Beyond were the workroom and, finally, the mahogany-paneled sanctum of J.G. Richardson himself.

My duties were to dust and arrange the merchandise, help out in the workroom and, above all, run errands. Stationed in the workroom with a thin, pale girl named Mildred, I kept an alert ear tuned for the buzzers. A call might come from J.G. for one of us to go up to the engravers on the mezzanine; from Mr. McCallum, head of the department, to run down to the mailorder section in the basement, or from Miss Allan, his assistant, to bring a tray of rings from the window to show to her customers in one of the cubicles.

The summons from the cubicles held top priority and had to be answered immediately. Once ensconced there with a customer and any of the stones, the salesman was forbidden to leave to get anything else he might want to show. The customer received the impression of relaxed, undivided attention. The actual purpose, of course, was to ensure that said customer didn't pocket a gem.

As Christmas drew near, workdays became a mounting crescendo of rush and excitement. My only worry was that January would see me shut out of this corner of heaven and back at the dreary task of job-hunting. Then, miraculously, from a word or two dropped here and there, I began to feel that this might not happen after all. One afternoon I heard J.G. say to Mr. McCallum, "Tell me about the little runner—I like her; she's a cheerful child."

Part of the reply reached me before I was out of earshot. "Yes," Mr. McCallum said, "she's a good girl. I've been meaning to suggest keeping her on ..."

That was all, but it was enough to send me home rejoicing.

But the next day started badly. I had to run for my street-car and spattered my stockings. Miss Allan, a fanatic for neatness, ordered me to go out and buy another pair. I came back to find that Mildred had been taken ill and sent home. It was only a week until Christmas, and the whole staff was extremely busy. Wrapping, running, answering bells at top speed, I somehow got through most of the day.

At 4:30 a summon came from Miss Allan in Cubicle 2. "The diamond dinner ring from the end showcase," she said.

As I hurried back, the ring in my hand, I glanced up and noticed a man on the other side of the row of showcases. He was tall, fair and in his early 30's. But it was the expression on his face which arrested me even in my flight toward Miss Allan's cubicle. It was the look of a great number of people in that unhappy era: bitter, angry, bewildered, caught in a trap not of their own making. His well-cut flannel suit, shabby now, and the university pin in his lapel told me his story. He was one of thousands trained for jobs they could no longer find. He gazed at the beautiful stones with the frustration of a man denied his right to earn them.

I felt a stab of sympathy, but I had other things to occupy my mind and promptly forgot all about him.

A few minutes later Miss Allen's buzzer sounded again.

"Now the clip that goes with this ring," Miss Allan said, her expression adding, "and for goodness' sake, be quick!"

The clip was at the very front of the window! To reach it meant climbing up a small set of steps and carefully leaning over the inside section of the display. Just as I was backing out, shaking with haste, my sleeve caught on the corner of an upright tray of solitaires. The tray teetered. I grabbed at it, and six magnificent diamond rings went rolling across the floor.

Mr. McCallum ran to my rescue, upset and flustered and angry. "Pick them up quickly," he said, "and put the tray back."

Down on my knees, I said through my tears, "Oh, Mr. McCallum, Miss Allan is waiting! What will I do?"

"I'll see to Miss Allan myself," he said. "Just pick up those rings!"

With frantic speed I collected five rings and put them in their slots. I couldn't find the sixth and thought it must have slipped through the tiny opening between the showcase and the window. I ran around the counter and looked down. It wasn't there. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the tall man edging toward the door of the shop a few yards away. In a flash I knew with absolute certainty that he had the ring; he had been standing at the only spot to which it could have rolled. I reached him as his hand touched the door handle.

"Excuse me, please," I said.

He turned, and for an endless minute neither of us spoke while I prayed for some way to save the future I had felt was in my grasp. To drop a tray of rings was bad, but that would be forgiven. To lose one was unthinkable. And yet if I made a fuss—even if I turned out to be right about this man—it could well be the end of all my hope.

"What do you want?" he said, and I saw the muscles of his cheeks twitch.

Disaster could come to me from what I was sure he'd done. Yet I felt instinctively he hadn't come into the store intending to steal—perhaps just to get a bit of warmth and a feeling of better times. I knew what it was to look for work and find none, and could imagine the bitterness of a man seeing others still able to buy luxuries while he and his went short on necessities.

"What do you want?" he repeated. Suddenly I had the answer. Mother had always told me poor people were basically kind. I didn't think this man would want to hurt me. I looked out into the fog that was swirling outside. "This is my first job," I said. "Jobs are scarce now, aren't they?"

He searched my face intently, then smiled a very gentle smile. "Yes," he said. "Indeed they are. But I'm sure you'll do very well in yours. May I wish you luck?"

He put his hand out and clasped mine. "Good luck to you," I whispered as he opened the door and vanished in the fog. Then I turned and put the sixth diamond back into place.