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Little Lost Sister
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"It isn't always the costume of women of fashion ... or the blazing
resplendent show-window that tempts Little Lost Sisters. It is more
often just the human need for love and shelter ... the lack of a
friendly handclasp that shall lighten tomorrow's labor ... the
sympathy and understanding that breeds hope"
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LITTLE LOST SISTER
By
VIRGINIA BROOKS
Author of
"MY BATTLES WITH VICE"
New York
THE MACAULAY COMPANY
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COPYRIGHT, 1914,
By
F. A. P. GAZZOLO AND R. E. RICKSEN,
All Rights Reserved
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CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
Prologue 13
I At the Button Mill 17
II Seeing Millville 27
III Enter a Detective 37
IV Harvey Meets "A Dealer in Cattle" 49
V A Serpent Whispers and a Woman Listens 57
VI A Romance Dawns--and a Tragedy 67
VII Harry Boland Hears from His Father 77
VIII The Death of Tom Welcome 85
IX In Which Some of Chicago's Best People
Essay a Task Too Big for Them 95
X The Adventures of a Newspaper Story 115
XI A Bomb for Mr. Grogan 133
XII Bad News from Millville 145
XIII The Reader Meets Another Old Acquaintance 155
XIV In Which the Wolf is Bitten by the Lamb 165
XV The Search Begins for the Lost Sister 173
XVI John Boland Meets Mary Randall 185
XVII The Cafe Sinister 203
XVIII Lost in the Levee 219
XIX Mary Randall Goes to Live in a Wolf's Den 229
XX Druce Signs a Significant Document 241
XXI Druce Proves a True Prophet 253
XXII "The Mills of the Gods" 261
XXIII After the Tragedy 271
XXIV "The Highway of the Upright" 277
XXV The Interests Versus Mary Randall 289
XXVI Out on Bail 297
XXVII Harvey Spencer Takes up the Trail 305
XXVIII The Forces That Conquer 317
XXIX The Call of Eternity 329
XXX At the Wedding Feast 335
XXXI With the Roses of Love 345
XXXII At Mary Randall's Summer Home 353
Afterward 359
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LITTLE LOST SISTER
PROLOGUE
They came up suddenly over a bit of rising ground, the mill-owner and his
friend the writer and student of modern industries, and stood in full
view of the factory. The air was sweet with scent of apple-blossoms. A
song sparrow trilled in the poplar tree.
"What do you think of our factory?" asked the man of business and of
success, turning his keen, aggressive face towards his companion.
The other, the dreamer, waited for moments without speaking, carefully
weighing the word, then he answered,
"Horrible."
"My dear fellow!" The owner's voice showed that he was really grieved.
"Why horrible?"
"Your mill is a crime against Nature. Look how it violates that
landscape. Look how it stands there gaunt and tawdry against these fresh
green meadows edged round with billowy white clouds that herald summer.
And you are proud of it. Could you not have found some arid waste for
this factory? Can't you see how Nature cries out against this outrage?
Can't you see that she has dedicated this country to seed-time and
harvest,--these verdant fields, deep woods and brooding streams?"
"The Millville people wanted our factory. They paid us a subsidy to bring
it here."
"Blind, too!" The dreamer looked backward at the town. "They tell me that
the founders there called their village Farmington. Have you ever
reflected what a change you are working in the lives of these people by
substituting industrialism for agriculture? Have you thought of the moral
transformations such a substitution must work among them?"
"We are not responsible for their morals," the mill-owner answered,
impatiently. "We have spared nothing to make our factory up to date. The
mill meets all the demands of modern hygiene and sanitation. We do that
for them."
His friend was silent for a time.
"Your employes here are chiefly women, very young women," he said at
last.
"Yes, we have two hundred girls," replied the mill-owner.
"What is your highest wage for a girl?"
"Eight dollars a week."
Again the younger man was silent. Then he took his friend's arm within
his own.
"These girls are the mothers of tomorrow. To an extent the destinies of
our race depend upon them. Your factory places upon you tremendous
responsibilities."
"We are growing to realize our responsibilities more and more," said the
man of business and of success gravely. "Perhaps we do not realize them
keenly enough. It is the fault of the times."
"Yes, it is the fault of the times. Life, honor, virtue itself trampled
down in the rush for the dollar."
"I believe that a change is coming, though slowly. I believe that the day
will come when we owners of mills will regard it as a disgraceful thing
for our corporations to declare a dividend while notoriously underpaying
our employes."
"Yes, and perhaps the day is coming, too, when the employer who maintains
conditions in his mills that subtly undermine the virtue of his women
workers will be regarded as a public enemy."
"No doubt, but that time is a long way ahead!"
"We must look to the future," said his friend. "We must work for the
future, too!"
CHAPTER I
AT THE BUTTON MILL
Elsie Welcome was the one girl in the big machine room of the Millville
button factory who did not rise when the bell sounded for the short
afternoon recess. She swung on her revolving stool away from her machine
and looked eagerly, thirstingly towards the windows where the other girls
were crowding for breath of the fresh June air, but she did not stir to
follow them. A resolution stronger than her own keen need of the
recreation moments was singling out this young girl from among her two
hundred companions, laughing and talking together.
"I will speak to Mr. Kemble now--now," she promised herself, watching for
the foreman to enter the machine room, according to his daily custom at
this hour. Elsie nerved herself to a task difficult to perform, even
after her three years of work in the factory, even though she was one of
the most skilful workers here.
She drew up her charmingly modeled little figure tensely, and held her
small head high, her pure, beautiful features aglow with delicate color,
her slender, shapely hands clasping and unclasping each other.
The foreman came into the room. Elsie rose from her place and went to
meet him, pushing back the pretty tendrils of her hair.
"Mr. Kemble," she said, "I should like to speak to you a moment."
Hiram Kemble was a tall, thin young man, deeply conscious of his own
importance and responsibilities. He had risen by assiduous devotion to
the details of button making from office boy to his present exalted
state. His mind had become a mere filing cabinet for information
concerning the button business.
He stood regarding the girl before him, feeling the attraction of her
beauty and resenting it. He did not dislike her; he did not understand
her, and it was his nature to distrust what he did not understand.
"Well," he said, with professional brusqueness, "what is it?"
"I wanted to ask you to--to--" Elsie hesitated, then went on with
courage, "to raise my wages."
He looked at her in amazement, displeased. "How much are you getting
now?"
"Only eight dollars a week."
"Only!" Hiram Kemble was satirical. "That's as much as the others are
getting."
"I know it. But it's not enough. Our expenses are heavy. My mother has
begun to--to--" Elsie choked. "My mother is compelled to take in washing.
She's not strong enough for such heavy work."
"Your sister has a good job."
"She earns only nine dollars."
"Your father--"
Tears sprang to Elsie's eyes, but she would not let them fall. "He's not
earning anything."
"I know." Kemble spoke accusingly. "He is drinking."
Elsie showed a flash of spirit: "That's not my fault!"
"Just so. But you can't hold the Millville Button Company responsible for
your father's misbehavior."
"Is there any chance for me to get more pay?" There was a note of despair
in her question.
"Not the least chance in the world. You are getting our maximum wage for
women. I couldn't raise your pay if I wanted to without being specially
authorized to do so by our board of directors."
"And I can never earn--never get any more here?"
"No."
The minute hand of the electric clock pushed forward. Again a bell
sounded. Two hundred American girls who had had a few moments' respite
came trooping wearily back to their places at the machines.
At the clang of the bell Kemble walked up the room. Elsie went back to
her place drooping; she wore a beaten air as if he had struck her
visibly.
The girls on either hand spoke to her as they slipped into their places,
but she did not hear them. Hours of swift work followed. The machines
whirred and the deft hands of the girls flew. These button workers had
nearly all been recruited from the district around Millville. With rare
exceptions they were descendants of the hardy Americans who had founded
the town while it was still called Farmington. The founders had passed
away. The outside world had pressed around the village until its people
longed to play a more active role in the world. It had seemed a great day
when the button factory came, and the town name was changed to Millville.
Now these daughters of the strong elder race were factory workers. The
world had been made better by an output of thousands of shiny new buttons
when at last the six o'clock whistle blew on this bright June day.
Elsie Welcome got up from her machine and picked up her hat listlessly.
She walked to a window and looked out. Suddenly animation came into her
face. A young man waved a handkerchief from an automobile which spun by
on the gray turnpike below the mill. Elsie waved her handkerchief in
return.
Kemble, watching the girl from across the room, saw the episode. He
hurried across to her, with the air of pouncing on a victim.
"We'll have none of that here, Miss Welcome," he said. "If you have to
flirt, don't flirt on the company's premises."
She turned upon him indignantly. "I am not flirting! That gentleman is a
friend of mine."
Kemble sneered. "Oh, he is a friend, is he? Where does a factory girl
like you meet men who ride in automobiles?"
Elsie flushed scarlet; she bit her quivering lips.
"Ashamed to tell where you met him, are you?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean I'm responsible to my employers for the character of the girls I
employ here."
Elsie looked her contempt of him. She laughed a little low scornful laugh
which made Kemble thoroughly angry.
"Look here, my girl," he said. "You don't know when you're well off. You
are too independent." His tone of anger roused her temper, but she held
herself in leash and answered with cold politeness:
"Mr. Kemble, when I feel myself getting independent, the first thing I
shall do will be to get away from the Millville button factory."
Kemble was ready to retreat now. The interview was getting beyond his
expectation. Elsie was one of the company's fastest workers. He could not
afford to have her throw up her place. He did not want to lose her.
"Oh, but you like the factory, Miss Welcome," he said in a suddenly
pacific tone.
"Like--the--factory! I hate it," returned the girl, all her pent-up
wrongs finding expression. "I hate the mill and everything about it. Do
you suppose any girl could like the prospect of being bottled up in this
hole year after year for eight dollars a week? Why, some day, Mr. Kemble,
I expect to pay eight dollars for a hat, for just one hat."
"So that's it," said Kemble, "fine feathers, eh? I know, you're like a
lot of other girls who have come and gone in this factory. You've heard
of Chicago's bright lights and you want to singe your wings in them. Let
me tell you something, my girl, girls in your position don't get eight
dollar hats without paying for them and if they haven't got the money
they give something else. They give--"
"Stop," ordered the girl. "You shan't say that to me. I don't believe it.
You can't convince me that there isn't something better in life for a
girl like me than Millville and eight dollars a week."
"I pity your ignorance," said Kemble, loftily.
"It's not ignorance to want something better than this," replied Elsie.
"Why should you taunt me with ignorance, anyway? What do you know about
the world? You're just a foreman in a little country mill and because you
are satisfied with a narrow little life like that you think everyone else
ought to be."
The truth in this goaded Kemble into violation of rule number twelve for
button factory foremen which exhorts such employes to be polite to women
workers.
"Why the devil don't you go to Chicago and be done with it then?" he
demanded. "You're one of these people that has to learn by experience."
He sneered at her. "Perhaps you can get your friend in the auto to take
you. Why don't you try it?"
Tears rushed to the girl's eyes. She began fastening on her hat to
conceal her emotion.
"I'm going to Chicago," she muttered, "just as soon as I am able. Nothing
there can be much worse than being compelled to work in Millville under
you. Good gracious," she added maliciously, after giving him a thorough
inspection, "it's no use to stand here arguing with you."
With this taunt Miss Elsie gave her hat a final adjustment, then, leaving
Mr. Hiram Kemble speechless with rage and injured dignity, she walked out
of the factory door.