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Support the Monkey! Tell All your Friends and Teachers |
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Support the Monkey! Tell All your Friends and Teachers |
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The firm of Speigelheim & Co., makers of boys’ caps, occupied one floor of the building, fifty feet in width and some eighty feet in depth. It was a place rather dingily lighted, the darkest portions having incandescent lights, filled with machines and work benches. At the latter laboured quite a company of girls and some men. The former were drabby-looking creatures, stained in face with oil and dust, clad in thin, shapeless, cotton dresses and shod with more or less worn shoes. Many of them had their sleeves rolled up, revealing bare arms, and in some cases, owing to the heat, their dresses were open at the neck. They were a fair type of nearly the lowest order of shop-girls-careless, slouchy, and more or less pale from confinement. They were not timid, however; were rich in curiosity, and strong in daring and slang. Carrie looked about her, very much disturbed and quite sure that she did not want to work here. Aside from making her uncomfortable by sidelong glances, no one paid her the least attention. She waited until the whole department was aware of her presence. Then some word was sent around, and a foreman, in an apron and shirt sleeves, the latter rolled up to his shoulders, approached. "Do you want to see me?" he asked. "Do you need any help?" said Carrie, already learning directness of address. "Do you know how to stitch caps?" he returned. "No, sir," she replied. "Have you ever had any experience at this kind of work?" he inquired. She answered that she had not. "Well," said the foreman, scratching his ear meditatively, "we do need a stitcher. We like experienced help, though. We’ve hardly got time to break people in." He paused and looked away out of the window. "We might, though, put you at finishing," he concluded reflectively. "How much do you pay a week?" ventured Carrie, emboldened by a certain softness in the man’s manner and his simplicity of address. "Three and a half," he answered. "Oh," she was about to exclaim, but checked herself and allowed her thoughts to die without expression. "We’re not exactly in need of anybody," he went on vaguely, looking her over as one would a package. "You can come on Monday morning, though," he added, "and I’ll put you to work." "Thank you," said Carrie weakly. "If you come, bring an apron," he added. He walked away and left her standing by the elevator, never so much as inquiring her name. While the appearance of the shop and the announcement of the price paid per week operated very much as a blow to Carrie’s fancy, the fact that work of any kind was offered after so rude a round of experience was gratifying. She could not begin to believe that she would take the place, modest as her aspirations were. She had been used to better than that. Her mere experience and the free out-of-door life of the country caused her nature to revolt at such confinement. Dirt had never been her share. Her sister’s flat was clean. This place was grimy and low, the girls were careless and hardened. They must be bad-minded and hearted, she imagined. Still, a place had been offered her. Surely Chicago was not so bad if she could find one place in one day. She might find another and better later. Her subsequent experiences were not of a reassuring nature, however. From all the more pleasing or imposing places she was turned away abruptly with the most chilling formality. In others where she applied only the experienced were required. She met with painful rebuffs, the most trying of which had been in a manufacturing cloak house, where she had gone to the fourth floor to inquire. "No, no," said the foreman, a rough, heavily built individual, who looked after a miserably lighted workshop, "we don’t want any one. Don’t come here." |
