Etta took a job at the box factory at three dollars a week; she and Susan and Ashbel moved into two small rooms in a flat in a tenement opposite the factory--a cheaper and therefore lower house than the one that had burned.They bought on the installment plan nine dollars' worth of furniture--the scant minimum of necessities.They calculated that, by careful saving, they could pay off the debt in a year or so--unless one or the other fell ill or lost work."That means," said Etta, eyeing their flimsy and all but downright worthless purchases, "that means we'll still be paying when this furniture'll be gone to pieces and fit only for kindling.""It's the best we can do," replied Susan."Maybe one of us'll get a better job.""_You_ could, I'm sure, if you had the clothes," said Etta."But not in those rags.""If I had the clothes? Where?"
"At Shillito's or one of the other department stores.They'd give us both places in one of the men's departments.They like pretty girls for those places--if they're not giddy and don't waste time flirting but use flirtation to sell goods.But what's the sense in talking about it? You haven't got the clothes.Asaleslady's got to be counter-dressed.She can look as bad as she pleases round the skirt and the feet.But from the waist up she has to look natty, if she wants wages."Susan had seen these girls; she understood now why they looked as if they were the put together upper and lower halves of two different persons.She recalled that, even though they went into other business, they still retained the habit, wore toilets that were counterbuilt.She revolved the problem of getting one of these toilets and of securing a store job.But she soon saw it was hopeless, for the time.Every cent the three had was needed to keep from starving and freezing.Also--though she did not realize it--her young enthusiasm was steadily being sapped by the life she was leading.It may have been this rather than natural gentleness--or perhaps it was as much the one as the other--that kept Susan from taking Matson's advice and hardening herself into a forelady.The ruddy glow under her skin had given place to, the roundness of her form had gone, and its pallor;beauty remained only because she had a figure which not even emaciation could have deprived of lines of alluring grace.But she was no longer quite so straight, and her hair, which it was a sheer impossibility to care for, was losing its soft vitality.
She was still pretty, but not the beauty she had been when she was ejected from the class in which she was bred.However, she gave the change in herself little thought; it was the rapid decline of Etta's prettiness and freshness that worried her most.
Not many weeks after the fire and the deeper plunge, she began to be annoyed by Ashbel.In his clumsy, clownish way he was making advances to her.Several times he tried to kiss her.
Once, when Etta was out, he opened the door of the room where she was taking a bath in a washtub she had borrowed of the janitress, leered in at her and very reluctantly obeyed her sharp order to close the door.She had long known that he was in reality very different from the silent restrained person fear of his father made him seem to be.But she thought even the reality was far above the rest of the young men growing up among those degrading influences.
The intrusion into her room was on a Sunday; on the following Sunday he came back as soon as Etta went out."Look here, Lorny," said he, with blustering tone and gesture, "I want to have a plain talk with you.I'm sick and tired of this.There's got to be a change.""Sick of what?" asked Susan.
"Of the way you stand me off." He plumped himself sullenly down on the edge of hers and Etta's bed."I can't afford to get married.I've got to stick by you two.""It strikes me, Ashbel, we all need each other.Who'd marry you on seven a week?" She laughed good-humoredly."Anyhow, _you_wouldn't support a wife.It takes the hardest kind of work to get your share of the expenses out of you.You always try to beat us down to letting you off with two fifty a week.""That's about all Etta pays."
"It's about all she gets.And __I__ pay three fifty--and she and Ido all the work--and give you two meals and a lunch to take with you--and you've got a room alone--and your mending done.I guess you know when you're well off.""But I ain't well off," he cried."I'm a grown-up man--and I've got to have a woman."Susan had become used to tenement conditions.She said, practically, "Well--there's your left over four dollars a week.""Huh!" retorted he."Think I'm goin' to run any risks? I'm no fool.I take care of my health.""Well--don't bother me with your troubles--at least, troubles of that sort.""Yes, but I will!" shouted he, in one of those sudden furies that seize upon the stupid ignorant."You needn't act so nifty with me.I'm as good as you are.I'm willing to marry you.""No, thanks," said Susan."I'm not free to marry--even if I would.""Oh--you ain't?" For an instant his curiosity, as she thus laid a hand upon the curtain over her past, distracted his uncertain attention.But her expression, reserved, cold, maddeningly reminding him of a class distinction of which he was as sensitively conscious as she was unconscious--her expression brought him back with a jerk."Then you'll have to live with me, anyhow.I can't stand it, and I'm not goin' to.
If you want me to stay on here, and help out, you've got to treat me right.Other fellows that do as I'm doing get treated right.And I've got to be, too--or I'll clear out." And he squirmed, and waggled his head and slapped and rubbed his heavy, powerful legs.
