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
humbly 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.