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| Pussy 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 took my chin and tilted back my head. She waited until the whole department was aware Young Pussy 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 Young Pussy herself and allowed her thoughts to die without Young Pussy 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.For once she was the admired, the sought-for. The independence of success now made its first faint showing. With the tables turned, she was looking down, rather than up, to her lover. She did not fully realise that this was so, but there was something in condescension coming from her which was infinitely sweet. While the appearance of the shop and the announcement Young Pussy 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 Young Pussy 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 youngpussy were required. She met with painful Young Pussy rebuffs, the most trying of which had been in Young Pussy 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, Young Pussy 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 Young Pussy 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. I suppose that you really want to marry me, to get hold of my fortune, don't you? 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 youngpussy take a car, she passed the door of a large wholesale shoe house, through the plate-glass window of which she could see a middle-aged gentleman sitting a a small desk. |
