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_ Once across the river and into the wholesale district, she
glanced about her for some likely door at which to apply. As she
contemplated the wide windows and imposing signs, she became
conscious of being gazed upon and understood for what she was--a
wage-seeker. She had never done this thing before, and lacked
courage. To avoid a certain indefinable shame she felt at being
caught spying about for a position, she quickened her steps and
assumed an air of indifference supposedly common to one upon an
errand. In this way she passed many manufacturing and wholesale
houses without once glancing in. At last, after several blocks
of walking, she felt that this would not do, and began to look
about again, though without relaxing her pace. A little way on
she saw a great door which, for some reason, attracted her
attention. It was ornamented by a small brass sign, and seemed
to be the entrance to a vast hive of six or seven floors.
"Perhaps," she thought, "they may want some one," and crossed
over to enter. When she came within a score of feet of the
desired goal, she saw through the window a young man in a grey
checked suit. That he had anything to do with the concern, she
could not tell, but because he happened to be looking in her
direction her weakening heart misgave her and she hurried by, too
overcome with shame to enter. Over the way stood a great six-
story structure, labelled Storm and King, which she viewed with
rising hope. It was a wholesale dry goods concern and employed
women. She could see them moving about now and then upon the
upper floors. This place she decided to enter, no matter what.
She crossed over and walked directly toward the entrance. As she
did so, two men came out and paused in the door. A telegraph
messenger in blue dashed past her and up the few steps that led
to the entrance and disappeared. Several pedestrians out of the
hurrying throng which filled the sidewalks passed about her as
she paused, hesitating. She looked helplessly around, and then,
seeing herself observed, retreated. It was too difficult a task.
She could not go past them.
So severe a defeat told sadly upon her nerves. Her feet carried
her mechanically forward, every foot of her progress being a
satisfactory portion of a flight which she gladly made. Block
after block passed by. Upon streetlamps at the various corners
she read names such as Madison, Monroe, La Salle, Clark,
Dearborn, State, and still she went, her feet beginning to tire
upon the broad stone flagging. She was pleased in part that the
streets were bright and clean. The morning sun, shining down
with steadily increasing warmth, made the shady side of the
streets pleasantly cool. She looked at the blue sky overhead with
more realisation of its charm than had ever come to her before.
Her cowardice began to trouble her in a way. She turned back,
resolving to hunt up Storm and King and enter. On the way, she
encountered a great wholesale shoe company, through the broad
plate windows of which she saw an enclosed executive department,
hidden by frosted glass. Without this enclosure, but just within
the street entrance, sat a grey-haired gentleman at a small
table, with a large open ledger before him. She walked by this
institution several times hesitating, but, finding herself
unobserved, faltered past the screen door and stood humble
waiting.
"Well, young lady," observed the old gentleman, looking at her
somewhat kindly, "what is it you wish?"
"I am, that is, do you--I mean, do you need any help?" she
stammered.
"Not just at present," he answered smiling. "Not just at
present. Come in some time next week. Occasionally we need some
one."
She received the answer in silence and backed awkwardly out. The
pleasant nature of her reception rather astonished her. She had
expected that it would be more difficult, that something cold and
harsh would be said--she knew not what. That she had not been
put to shame and made to feel her unfortunate position, seemed
remarkable.
Somewhat encouraged, she ventured into another large structure.
It was a clothing company, and more people were in evidence--
well-dressed men of forty and more, surrounded by brass railings.
An office boy approached her.
"Who is it you wish to see?" he asked.
"I want to see the manager," she said.
He ran away and spoke to one of a group of three men who were
conferring together. One of these came towards her.
"Well?" he said coldly. The greeting drove all courage from her
at once.
"Do you need any help?" she stammered.
"No," he replied abruptly, and turned upon his heel.
She went foolishly out, the office boy deferentially swinging the
door for her, and gladly sank into the obscuring crowd. It was a
severe setback to her recently pleased mental state.
Now she walked quite aimlessly for a time, turning here and
there, seeing one great company after another, but finding no
courage to prosecute her single inquiry. High noon came, and with
it hunger. She hunted out an unassuming restaurant and entered,
but was disturbed to find that the prices were exorbitant for the
size of her purse. A bowl of soup was all that she could afford,
and, with this quickly eaten, she went out again. It restored
her strength somewhat and made her moderately bold to pursue the
search.
In walking a few blocks to fix upon some probable place, she
again encountered the firm of Storm and King, and this time
managed to get in. Some gentlemen were conferring close at hand,
but took no notice of her. She was left standing, gazing
nervously upon the floor. When the limit of her distress had
been nearly reached, she was beckoned to by a man at one of the
many desks within the near-by railing.
"Who is it you wish to see?" he required.
"Why, any one, if you please," she answered. "I am looking for
something to do."
"Oh, you want to see Mr. McManus," he returned. "Sit down," and
he pointed to a chair against the neighbouring wall. He went on
leisurely writing, until after a time a short, stout gentleman
came in from the street.
"Mr. McManus," called the man at the desk, "this young woman
wants to see you."
The short gentleman turned about towards Carrie, and she arose
and came forward.
"What can I do for you, miss?" he inquired, surveying her
curiously.
"I want to know if I can get a position," she inquired.
"As what?" he asked.
"Not as anything in particular," she faltered.
"Have you ever had any experience in the wholesale dry goods
business?" he questioned.
"No, sir," she replied.
"Are you a stenographer or typewriter?"
"No, sir."
"Well, we haven't anything here," he said. "We employ only
experienced help."
She began to step backward toward the door, when something about
her plaintive face attracted him.
"Have you ever worked at anything before?" he inquired.
"No, sir," she said.
"Well, now, it's hardly possible that you would get anything to
do in a wholesale house of this kind. Have you tried the
department stores?"
She acknowledged that she had not.
"Well, if I were you," he said, looking at her rather genially,
"I would try the department stores. They often need young women
as clerks."
"Thank you," she said, her whole nature relieved by this spark of
friendly interest.
"Yes," he said, as she moved toward the door, "you try the
department stores," and off he went.
At that time the department store was in its earliest form of
successful operation, and there were not many. The first three in
the United States, established about 1884, were in Chicago.
Carrie was familiar with the names of several through the
advertisements in the "Daily News," and now proceeded to seek
them. The words of Mr. McManus had somehow managed to restore
her courage, which had fallen low, and she dared to hope that
this new line would offer her something. Some time she spent in
wandering up and down, thinking to encounter the buildings by
chance, so readily is the mind, bent upon prosecuting a hard but
needful errand, eased by that self-deception which the semblance
of search, without the reality, gives. At last she inquired of a
police officer, and was directed to proceed "two blocks up,"
where she would find "The Fair."
The nature of these vast retail combinations, should they ever
permanently disappear, will form an interesting chapter in the
commercial history of our nation. Such a flowering out of a
modest trade principle the world had never witnessed up to that
time. They were along the line of the most effective retail
organisation, with hundreds of stores coordinated into one and
laid out upon the most imposing and economic basis. They were
handsome, bustling, successful affairs, with a host of clerks and
a swarm of patrons. Carrie passed along the busy aisles, much
affected by the remarkable displays of trinkets, dress goods,
stationery, and jewelry. Each separate counter was a show place
of dazzling interest and attraction. She could not help feeling
the claim of each trinket and valuable upon her personally, and
yet she did not stop. There was nothing there which she could
not have used--nothing which she did not long to own. The dainty
slippers and stockings, the delicately frilled skirts and
petticoats, the laces, ribbons, hair-combs, purses, all touched
her with individual desire, and she felt keenly the fact that not
any of these things were in the range of her purchase. She was a
work-seeker, an outcast without employment, one whom the average
employee could tell at a glance was poor and in need of a
situation.
It must not be thought that any one could have mistaken her for a
nervous, sensitive, high-strung nature, cast unduly upon a cold,
calculating, and unpoetic world. Such certainly she was not. But
women are peculiarly sensitive to their adornment.
Not only did Carrie feel the drag of desire for all which was new
and pleasing in apparel for women, but she noticed too, with a
touch at the heart, the fine ladies who elbowed and ignored her,
brushing past in utter disregard of her presence, themselves
eagerly enlisted in the materials which the store contained.
Carrie was not familiar with the appearance of her more fortunate
sisters of the city. Neither had she before known the nature and
appearance of the shop girls with whom she now compared poorly.
They were pretty in the main, some even handsome, with an air of
independence and indifference which added, in the case of the
more favoured, a certain piquancy. Their clothes were neat, in
many instances fine, and wherever she encountered the eye of one
it was only to recognise in it a keen analysis of her own
position--her individual shortcomings of dress and that shadow of
manner which she thought must hang about her and make clear to
all who and what she was. A flame of envy lighted in her heart.
She realised in a dim way how much the city held--wealth,
fashion, ease--every adornment for women, and she longed for
dress and beauty with a whole heart.
On the second floor were the managerial offices, to which, after
some inquiry, she was now directed. There she found other girls
ahead of her, applicants like herself, but with more of that
self-satisfied and independent air which experience of the city
lends; girls who scrutinised her in a painful manner. After a
wait of perhaps three-quarters of an hour, she was called in
turn.
"Now," said a sharp, quick-mannered Jew, who was sitting at a
roll-top desk near the window, "have you ever worked in any other
store?"
"No, sir," said Carrie.
"Oh, you haven't," he said, eyeing her keenly.
"No, sir," she replied.
"Well, we prefer young women just now with some experience. I
guess we can't use you."
Carrie stood waiting a moment, hardly certain whether the
interview had terminated.
"Don't wait!" he exclaimed. "Remember we are very busy here."
Carrie began to move quickly to the door.
"Hold on," he said, calling her back. "Give me your name and
address. We want girls occasionally."
When she had gotten safely into the street, she could scarcely
restrain the tears. It was not so much the particular rebuff
which she had just experienced, but the whole abashing trend of
the day. She was tired and nervous. She abandoned the thought
of appealing to the other department stores and now wandered on,
feeling a certain safety and relief in mingling with the crowd.
In her indifferent wandering she turned into Jackson Street, not
far from the river, and was keeping her way along the south side
of that imposing thoroughfare, when a piece of wrapping paper,
written on with marking ink and tacked up on the door, attracted
her attention. It read, "Girls wanted--wrappers & stitchers."
She hesitated a moment, then entered.
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."
With the wane of the afternoon went her hopes, her courage, and
her strength. She had been astonishingly persistent. So earnest
an effort was well deserving of a better reward. On every hand,
to her fatigued senses, the great business portion grew larger,
harder, more stolid in its indifference. It seemed as if it was
all closed to her, that the struggle was too fierce for her to
hope to do anything at all. Men and women hurried by in long,
shifting lines. She felt the flow of the tide of effort and
interest--felt her own helplessness without quite realising the
wisp on the tide that she was. She cast about vainly for some
possible place to apply, but found no door which she had the
courage to enter. It would be the same thing all over. The old
humiliation of her plea, rewarded by curt denial. Sick at heart
and in body, she turned to the west, the direction of Minnie's
flat, which she had now fixed in mind, and began that wearisome,
baffled retreat which the seeker for employment at nightfall too
often makes. In passing through Fifth Avenue, south towards Van
Buren Street, where she intended to take a car, she passed the
door of a large wholesale shoe house, through the plate-glass
windows of which she could see a middle-aged gentleman sitting at
a small desk. One of those forlorn impulses which often grow out
of a fixed sense of defeat, the last sprouting of a baffled and
uprooted growth of ideas, seized upon her. She walked
deliberately through the door and up to the gentleman, who looked
at her weary face with partially awakened interest.
"What is it?" he said.
"Can you give me something to do?" said Carrie.
"Now, I really don't know," he said kindly. "What kind of work
is it you want--you're not a typewriter, are you?"
"Oh, no," answered Carrie.
"Well, we only employ book-keepers and typewriters here. You
might go around to the side and inquire upstairs. They did want
some help upstairs a few days ago. Ask for Mr. Brown."
She hastened around to the side entrance and was taken up by the
elevator to the fourth floor.
"Call Mr. Brown, Willie," said the elevator man to a boy near by.
Willie went off and presently returned with the information that
Mr. Brown said she should sit down and that he would be around in
a little while.
It was a portion of the stock room which gave no idea of the
general character of the place, and Carrie could form no opinion
of the nature of the work.
"So you want something to do," said Mr. Brown, after he inquired
concerning the nature of her errand. "Have you ever been
employed in a shoe factory before?"
"No, sir," said Carrie.
"What is your name?" he inquired, and being informed, "Well, I
don't know as I have anything for you. Would you work for four
and a half a week?"
Carrie was too worn by defeat not to feel that it was
considerable. She had not expected that he would offer her less
than six. She acquiesced, however, and he took her name and
address.
"Well," he said, finally, "you report here at eight o'clock
Monday morning. I think I can find something for you to do."
He left her revived by the possibilities, sure that she had found
something at last. Instantly the blood crept warmly over her
body. Her nervous tension relaxed. She walked out into the busy
street and discovered a new atmosphere. Behold, the throng was
moving with a lightsome step. She noticed that men and women
were smiling. Scraps of conversation and notes of laughter
floated to her. The air was light. People were already pouring
out of the buildings, their labour ended for the day. She
noticed that they were pleased, and thoughts of her sister's home
and the meal that would be awaiting her quickened her steps. She
hurried on, tired perhaps, but no longer weary of foot. What
would not Minnie say! Ah, the long winter in Chicago--the
lights, the crowd, the amusement! This was a great, pleasing
metropolis after all. Her new firm was a goodly institution.
Its windows were of huge plate glass. She could probably do well
there. Thoughts of Drouet returned--of the things he had told
her. She now felt that life was better, that it was livelier,
sprightlier. She boarded a car in the best of spirits, feeling
her blood still flowing pleasantly. She would live in Chicago,
her mind kept saying to itself. She would have a better time
than she had ever had before--she would be happy. _
Read next: CHAPTER IV THE SPENDINGS OF FANCY--FACTS ANSWER WITH SNEERS
Read previous: CHAPTER II WHAT POVERTY THREATENED--OF GRANITE AND BRASS
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