And pa says it'll never be straightened out till everybody has to work.""What--what does your father do?"
"He was a cabinetmaker.Then one of the other men tipped over a big chest and his right hand was crushed--smashed to pieces, so he wasn't able to work any more.But he's mighty smart in his brains.It's the kind you can't make any money out of.He has read most everything.The trouble with pa was he had too much heart.He wasn't mean enough to try and get ahead of the other workmen, and rise to be a boss over them, and grind them down to make money for the proprietor.So he stayed on at the bench--he was a first-class cabinetmaker.The better a man is as a workman, and the nicer he is as a man, the harder it is for him to get up.Pa was too good at his trade--and too soft-hearted.
Won't you have another glass of milk?"
"No--thank you," said Susan.She was still hungry, but it alarmed her to think of taking more than ten cents from her hoard.
"Are you going to ask for work at the box factory?""I'm afraid they wouldn't take me.I don't know how to make boxes.""Oh, that's nothing," assured the restaurant girl.
"It's the easiest kind of work.But then an educated person can pick up most any trade in a few days, well enough to get along.
They'll make you a paster, at first."
"How much does that pay?"
"He'll offer you two fifty a week, but you must make him give you three.That's right for beginners.Then, if you stay on and work hard, you'll be raised to four after six months.The highest pay's five.""Three dollars," said Susan."How much can I rent a room for?"The restaurant girl looked at her pityingly."Oh, you can't afford a room.You'll have to club in with three other girls and take a room together, and cook your meals yourselves, turn about."Susan tried not to show how gloomy this prospect seemed."I'll try," said she.
She paid the ten cents; her new acquaintance went with her to the door, pointed out the huge bare wooden building displaying in great letters "J.C.Matson, Paper Boxes." "You apply at the office," said the waitress."There'll be a fat black-complected man in his shirt with his suspenders let down off his shoulders.
He'll be fresh with you.He used to be a working man himself, so he hasn't any respect for working people.But he doesn't mean any harm.He isn't like a good many; he lets his girls alone."Susan had not got far when the waitress came running after her.
"Won't you come back and let me know how you made out?" she asked, a little embarrassed."I hope you don't think I'm fresh.""I'll be glad to come," Susan assured her.And their eyes met in a friendly glance.
"If you don't find a place to go, why not come in with me? I've got only a very little bit of a room, but it's as big and a lot cleaner than any you'll find with the factory girls.""But I haven't any money," said Susan regretfully."And Icouldn't take anything without paying."
"You could pay two dollars and a half a week and eat in with us.
We couldn't afford to give you much for that, but it'd be better than what you'd get the other way.""But you can't afford to do that."
The restaurant girl's mind was aroused, was working fast and well."You can help in the restaurant of evenings," she promptly replied."I'll tell ma you're so pretty you'll draw trade.And I'll explain that you used to go to school with me--and have lost your father and mother.My name's Etta Brashear.""Mine's--Lorna Sackville," said Susan, blushing."I'll come after a while, and we'll talk about what to do.I may not get a place.""Oh, you'll get it.He has hard work finding girls.Factories usually pay more than stores, because the work's more looked down on--though Lord knows it's hard to think how anything could be more looked down on than a saleslady.""I don't see why you bother about those things.What do they matter?""Why, everybody bothers about them.But you don't understand.
You were born a lady, and you'll always feel you've got social standing, and people'll feel that way too.""But I wasn't," said Susan earnestly."Indeed, I wasn't.I was born--a--a nobody.I can't tell you, but I'm just nobody.Ihaven't even got a name."
Etta, as romantic as the next young girl, was only the more fascinated by the now thrillingly mysterious stranger--so pretty, so sweet, with such beautiful manners and strangely outcast no doubt from some family of "high folks." "You'll be sure to come? You won't disappoint me?"Susan kissed Etta.Etta embraced Susan, her cheeks flushed, her eyes brilliant."`I've taken an awful fancy to you," she said.
"I haven't ever had an intimate lady friend.I don't care for the girls round here.They're so fresh and common.Ma brought me up refined; she's not like the ordinary working-class woman."It hurt Susan deeply--why, she could not have quite explained--to hear Etta talk in this fashion.And in spite of herself her tone was less friendly as she said, "I'll come when I find out."
