ELLEN, the maid, slept across the hall from Susan, in a closet so dirty that no one could have risked in it any article of clothing with the least pretension to cleanness.It was no better, no worse than the lodgings of more than two hundred thousand New Yorkers.Its one narrow opening, beside the door, gave upon a shaft whose odors were so foul that she kept the window closed, preferring heat like the inside of a steaming pan to the only available "outside air." This in a civilized city where hundreds of dogs with jeweled collars slept in luxurious rooms on downiest beds and had servants to wait upon them! The morning after Susan's coming, Ellen woke her, as they had arranged, at a quarter before five.The night before, Susan had brought up from the basement a large bucket of water;for she had made up her mind, to take a bath every day, at least until the cold weather set in and rendered such a luxury impossible.With this water and what she had in her little pitcher, Susan contrived to freshen herself up.She had bought a gas stove and some indispensable utensils for three dollars and seventeen cents in a Fourteenth Street store, a pound of cocoa for seventy cents and ten cents' worth of rolls--three rolls, well baked, of first quality flour and with about as good butter and other things put into the dough as one can expect in bread not made at home.These purchases had reduced her cash to forty-three cents--and she ought to buy without delay a clock with an alarm attachment.And pay day--Saturday--was two days away.
She made a cup of cocoa, drank it slowly, eating one of the rolls--all in the same methodical way like a machine that continues to revolve after the power has been shut off.It was then, even more than during her first evening alone, even more than when she from time to time startled out of troubled sleep--it was then, as she forced down her lonely breakfast, that she most missed Rod.When she had finished, she completed her toilet.The final glance at herself in the little mirror was depressing.She looked fresh for her new surroundings and for her new class.But in comparison with what she usually looked, already there was a distinct, an ominous falling off.
"I'm glad Rod never saw me looking like this," she said aloud drearily.Taking a roll for lunch, she issued forth at half-past six.The hour and three-quarters she had allowed for dressing and breakfasting had been none too much.In the coolness and comparative quiet she went down University Place and across Washington Square under the old trees, all alive with song and breeze and flashes of early morning light.She was soon in Broadway's deep canyon, was drifting absently along in the stream of cross, mussy-looking workers pushing southward.Her heart ached, her brain throbbed.It was horrible, this loneliness; and every one of the wounds where she had severed the ties with Spenser was bleeding.She was astonished to find herself before the building whose upper floors were occupied by Jeffries and Jonas.How had she got there? Where had she crossed Broadway?
"Good morning, Miss Sackville." It was Miss Hinkle, just arriving.Her eyes were heavy, and there were the crisscross lines under them that tell a story to the expert in the different effects of different kinds of dissipation.Miss Hinkle was showing her age--and she was "no spring chicken."Susan returned her greeting, gazing at her with the dazed eyes and puzzled smile of an awakening sleeper.
"I'll show you the ropes," said Miss Hinkle, as they climbed the two flights of stairs."You'll find the job dead easy.
They're mighty nice people to work for, Mr.Jeffries especially.Not easy fruit, of course, but nice for people that have got on.You didn't sleep well?""Yes--I think so."
"I didn't have a chance to drop round last night.I was out with one of the buyers.How do you like Mrs.Tucker?""She's very good, isn't she?"
"She'll never get along.She works hard, too--but not for herself.In this world you have to look out for Number One.
I had a swell dinner last night.Lobster--I love lobster--and elegant champagne--up to Murray's--such a refined place--all fountains and mirrors--really quite artistic.And my gentleman friend was so nice and respectful.You know, we have to go out with the buyers when they ask us.It helps the house sell goods.And we have to be careful not to offend them."Miss Hinkle's tone in the last remark was so significant that Susan looked at her--and, looking, understood.
"Sometimes," pursued Miss Hinkle, eyes carefully averted, "sometimes a new girl goes out with an important customer and he gets fresh and she kicks and complains to Mr.Jeffries--or Mr.Jonas--or Mr.Ratney, the head man.They always sympathize with her--but--well, I've noticed that somehow she soon loses her job.""What do you do when--when a customer annoys you?""I!" Miss Hinkle laughed with some embarrassment."Oh, I do the best I can." A swift glance of the cynical, laughing, "fast" eyes at Susan and away."The best I can--for the house--and for myself....I talk to you because I know you're a lady and because I don't want to see you thrown down.
A woman that's living quietly at home--like a lady--she can be squeamish.But out in the world a woman can't afford to be--no, nor a man, neither.You don't find this set down in the books, and they don't preach it in the churches--leastways they didn't when I used to go to church.But it's true, all the same."They were a few minutes early; so Miss Hinkle continued the conversation while they waited for the opening of the room where Susan would be outfitted for her work."I called you Miss Sackville," said she, "but you've been married--haven't you?""Yes."
"I can always tell--or at least I can see whether a woman's had experience or not.Well, I've never been regularly married, and I don't expect to, unless something pretty good offers.
