Etta had gone back to her own misery and the contrasts to it."Iget mad through and through," she cried, "when I think how all those things go to some women--women that never did work and never could.And they get them because they happen to belong to rich fathers and husbands or whoever protects them.It isn't fair! It makes me crazy!"Susan gave a disdainful shrug."What's the use of that kind of talk!" said she."No use at all.The thing is, _we_ haven't got what we want, and we've got to _get_ it--and so we've got to _learn_ how.""I can't think of anything but the cold," said Etta."My God, how cold I am! There isn't anything I wouldn't do to get warm.
There isn't anything anybody wouldn't do to get warm, if they were as cold as this.It's all very well for warm people to talk----""Oh, I'm sick of all the lying and faking, anyhow.Do you believe in hell, Lorna?""Not in a hot one," said Susan.
Soon they struck into Vine Street, bright as day almost, and lined with beer halls, concert gardens, restaurants.Through the glass fronts crowds of men and women were visible--contented faces, well-fed bodies, food on the tables or inviting-looking drink.Along the sidewalk poured an eager throng, all the conspicuous faces in it notable for the expectancy of pleasure in the eyes.
"Isn't this different!" exclaimed Etta."My God, how cold Iam--and how warm everybody else is but us!"
The sights, the sounds of laughter, of gay music, acted upon her like an intoxicant.She tossed her head in a reckless gesture.
"I don't care what becomes of me," said she."I'm ready for anything except dirt and starvation."Nevertheless, they hurried down Vine Street, avoiding the glances of the men and behaving as if they were two working girls in a rush to get home.As they walked, Susan, to delude herself into believing that she was not hesitating, with fainting courage talked incessantly to Etta--told her the things Mabel Connemora had explained to her--about how a woman could, and must, take care of her health, if she were not to be swept under like the great mass of the ignorant, careless women of the pariah class.Susan was astonished that she remembered all the actress had told her--remembered it easily, as if she had often thought of it, had used the knowledge habitually.
They arrived at Fountain Square, tired from the long walk.They were both relieved and depressed that nothing had happened."We might go round the fountain and then back," suggested Susan.
They made the tour less rapidly but still keeping their heads and their glances timidly down.They were numb with the cold now.To the sharp agony had succeeded an ache like the steady grinding pain of rheumatism.Etta broke the silence with, "Maybe we ought to go into a house.""A house! Oh--you mean a--a sporting house." At that time professional prostitution had not become widespread among the working class; stationary or falling wages, advancing cost of food and developing demand for comfort and luxury had as yet only begun to produce their inevitable results.Thus, prostitution as an industry was in the main segregated in certain streets and certain houses and the prostitutes were a distinct class.
"You haven't been?" inquired Etta.
"No," said Susan.
"Dan Cassatt and Kate told me about those places," Etta went on.
"Kate says they're fine and the girls make fifty and sometimes a hundred dollars a week, and have everything--servants to wait on them, good food, bathrooms, lovely clothes, and can drive out.But I--I think I'd stay in the house.""I want to be my own boss," said Susan.
"There's another side than what Kate says," continued Etta as consecutively as her chattering teeth would permit."She heard from a madam that wants her to come.But Dan heard from Minnie--she used to be in one--and she says the girls are slaves, that they're treated like dogs and have to take anything.She says it's something dreadful the way men act--even the gentlemen.She says the madam fixes things so that every girl always owes her money and don't own a stitch to her back, and so couldn't leave if she wanted to.""That sounds more like the truth," said Susan.
"But we may _have_ to go," pleaded Etta."It's awful cold--and if we went, at least we'd have a warm place.If we wanted to leave, why, we couldn't be any worse off for clothes than we are."Susan had no answer for this argument.They went several squares up Vine Street in silence.Then Etta burst out again:
"I'm frozen through and through, Lorna, and I'm dead tired--and hungry.The wind's cutting the flesh off my bones.What in the hell does it matter what becomes of us? Let's get warm, for God's sake.Let's go to a house.They're in Longworth Street--the best ones."And she came to a halt, forcing Susan to halt also.It happened to be the corner of Eighth Street.Susan saw the iron fence, the leafless trees of Garfield Place."Let's go down this way," said she."I had luck here once.""Luck!" said Etta, her curiosity triumphant over all.
