"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.
She neither paused nor replied, but, stepping quickly out, walked hurriedly away.