Betsy looked, and shuddered a little as she did so. She was about to tell the Queen that she had no desire to be a cash girl, when Fi Nance haughtily held up her hand for silence. "The lad shall be an office boy," she decided imperiously. "Who did you say he was?" "A Prince," growled the Hungry Tiger. "A dry goods store will be the best place for him," murmured Dad. "What can you two do?" he demanded, looking over his specs at the barber and sad singer of Rash. "Anything! Anything!" whined the frightened prisoners, bumping their heads together in their anxiety to please. "Pooh!" sniffed Dad scornfully. "That means nothing whatsoever." "Shampoo?" suggested the barber hopefully. "Let me give your Highness a little shave and hair cut." "Are you a barber?" asked Dad, looking at the Rasher with more interest. "If you're a barber, you can stay and welcome. There's always room for another barber, Down Town." "Thank you! Thank you! If your majesty will permit--" The barber bowed apologetically to the Prince of Rash, "I will remain here. I have always wanted to make money," he acknowledged frankly. "Me too!" gulped the sad singer eagerly. "I've sung until I'm hoarse, in Rash, And never earned a cent in cash!" "He has a voice like a horse," whispered Dad, in a loud aside to the Queen. "He sings like a jack-ass!" agreed Her Majesty readily. "But let him stay. Any kind of a noise goes, Down Town. Now as to these others?" She rolled her golden eyes in perplexity and disapproval at the Vegetable Man and the Hungry Tiger; then evidently giving them up, cried in a loud voice, "The audience is over and the prisoners are discharged. Let them make some money, pay up and settle down." "Well, good-bye!" smiled Dad, picking up his paper with a sigh of relief. "If you don't like the positions we have chosen for you, go down to the square and choose some others. Take them to the public square!" he ordered, waving at the officers. So, much to Betsy's and the little Prince's amusement, they were all hurried into the elevator, out of the bank and marched along the streets of the city. A curious sign on the first corner puzzled Betsy very much. "Down Town belongs to the Daddies," said the sign severely, "No aunts, mothers or sisters allowed." "Why, anybody can go down town at home," exclaimed the little girl in surprise. "I noticed there were no ladies about," observed Carter in an amused voice. "The Daddies have it all their own way here." As they passed along, Betsy looked curiously in the windows of the shops and offices and saw that everywhere the Dads were making money. Some were making money out of leather, some were making money out of oil and some were even making money out of old papers and rags. It looked quite simple. "But there must be some trick to it," she whispered hurriedly to the Prince of Rash. "I hope we don't have to stay here long. I won't be a cash girl."