With the coming of February, speeding did not stop at the "Imperial,"
while overtime crept in. Owing to rush orders the girls found themselves
working half an hour or even an hour over the usual time to close. The
5:51 train became a thing of the past with Annie Black and she bemoaned
it bitterly; but Hertha noticed that while there was complaint among the
American girls and much grumbling over unfairness and meanness, it
seemed to end there, while with the Jewish girls some plan was afoot.
Seated, together at the luncheon hour, their eyes shining, a slight
touch of color in their cheeks, a number of the more serious, with
Sophie Switsky at their head, talked of something beside their feeling
of fatigue, the forlornness of a cold dinner, or the loss of an evening
with a gentleman friend. One day, coming in earlier than usual from
luncheon, Hertha found herself drawn into the circle while Sophie
explained the meaning of the conference.
The shop must be unionized. Only by this means was there any hope for
justice. Without the union to back them, the employers could treat them
as they pleased, could confer or withdraw favors at their pleasure. But
with the union behind their demands this overtime work would cease and
they would secure a better wage. Did Hertha not think the conditions
abominable?
Hertha felt embarrassed. To these girls the trade which they worked was
their one means of livelihood; they were intense in their attitude
toward it, while to her it was only a step to something more, she did
not yet know what. She regretted the long hours, but they would not last
for many weeks, and as long as she could endure them and make good pay
she had not thought of change. Richard Brown, whom she was seeing a good
deal of now, urged her to drop the whole thing; but since he knew
nothing of her affairs she took his advice lightly. Her little legacy
kept her for the time in safety, but Sophie Switsky in her old dress
with her wet shoes, sending money to her brother and striving to save
for the summer, was not safe. Any day she might face starvation.
"I don't know about these things," Hertha stammered in answer to the
question put to her.
"What's doing?" Annie Black asked good naturedly, coming over to them;
but before she could receive a reply the signal came to turn to work
again.
"I see there's a strike in the 'Parisian,'" Kathleen said the next
morning as she scanned the paper. "Perhaps you'll be going out before
long; you aren't organized."
"Kathleen," Hertha questioned, "do you believe in the union?"
"Do I believe in the union? Do I believe in God? There, don't be
shocked, but there's something tangible about what the union done for
me; while, when my sister Maggie broke her arm, just as Johnnie came
down with the measles and her husband lost his job, I had to live by
faith--and that's a poor thing to fill an empty stomach."
"Please talk sensibly," Hertha said.
"Am I not? I'm only saying that the ways of the Almighty are mysterious
while the ways of the union, if you believe in the man who keeps the
cash box, are clear and plain. The union is the only thing that stands
between the working girl and starvation and sickness and sin. Don't
forget that."
There was no laughter now in Kathleen's voice and her eyes glowed with
emotion as she looked across the table at her questioner.
"We aren't unionized, Kathleen, but the 'Imperial' is one of the best
shops in the city; all the girls say so."
"Then you're living on the work others have done and not doing your
part. In sweat and suffering some union made the standard for your
shop."
At work much the same talk was in the air. When luncheon came Annie
received the answer to her question and learned of what was on foot. For
some weeks Sophie and her colleagues had been working upon the other
Jewish girls striving to win them to unionism. Now they were ready to
turn to the Americans.
"We must join the union," Sophie called out in her clear if broken
English. "See how we work long hours, and when the rush is over, no
work. And if we say anything we lose our job."
"Shut up, then," said Annie crossly.
She looked about nervously, but as the foreman was absent, proceeded to
enter the debate.
"It ain't so bad here," she announced. "There's lots worse shops in New
York, Sophie, if you don't know it."
"That's right, Annie," one of her companions chimed in, "I got a lady
friend works in a bum shop. You can smell the place before you come up
the stairs."
"Sure," echoed another, "this ain't a bad shop; the boss is good to us."
"Good?" Sophie cried indignantly, "I do not call it good. We work and
the boss pays us as small as he can."
"Listen!" Annie put down the pickle she was eating and proceeded to
instruct the foreigner. "You don't know as much about America as I do,
Sophie; you come from Russia where people are slaves. Yes, I read about
it in the Sunday paper. But here in the United States every one is free.
We don't need unions. If I don't like this shop I can up and go to
another. There's nothing to stop me, and if you don't like it you can
go, too."
"And if the boss don't like it he can fire us all!"
"Ain't he the right? He pays us. But sure he won't fire us if we stand
by him. My father's worked for thirty years with the same house. You bet
he don't get fired, and he don't belong to no union either."
Annie was very much in earnest. In her heart she felt intense disdain
for these foreigners who came to her country and tried to lead her and
other girls into a betrayal of their employer's trust.
Sophie had no idea of being worsted, but her position was difficult. She
must try to convert the ignorant mind that felt itself superior to her,
and she must do it with an imperfect knowledge of the tongue in which
she spoke.
She made a brave attempt. In a torrent of broken English she explained
the class struggle and the necessity for organization. She put before
the girls the helplessness of the individual worker and her inability to
bargain. The whim of a foreman or forelady, a day's sickness, a
slackening in the trade, and she might be thrown out on the street. She
made them all remember the uncertainty of obtaining work, the days of
going from shop to shop, the long hours waiting on the chance of being
taken on, only at last to return home disconsolate! She pictured the
boss living in luxury while the girls who created his wealth were
without proper clothes or food; and yet when they demanded a further
share in his prosperity, that but for them could never have existed, he
sneered as though they came for charity. Then came her picture of
organization: the individual impotent, the mass of individuals, each
helping one another, a mighty power that could grapple with the employer
and force from him a generous wage. She told them of their trade as it
had been in the past, of the battles that the workers had fought to
secure for them their present measure of freedom. She decried Annie's
free America. If America were free it was because there had been brave
men who had overthrown England's tyranny and other brave men who had
fought to free the slaves. And with her queer little accent she quoted,
"Who would be free, himself must strike the blow."
Unquestionably she overawed her audience. Annie and her companions found
her knowledge embarrassing and a little humiliating. They had all been
to grammar school, Annie herself had recited a poem once before her
class, but she had never looked upon knowledge with much zest and she
found it difficult to follow Sophie's arguments. But when one of her
companions asked, rather sheepishly, what it meant to join the union she
was on safe ground.
"It means twenty cents a week of good pay out of your envelope," she
declared with emphasis, "that's what it means, and you can bet your life
you'll never get a penny of it back!"
For the next few days the girls marshaled their forces at noon and
debated the union shop; at least, the Jewish girls debated while Annie
and her friends gave that answer, so exasperating to the serious
thinker, the retort irrelevant. Nothing so hurt the earnest supporters
of organized industry as the way the Americans made a joke of it. "Of
course Sophie wants us to join," Annie remarked once, not ill-humoredly,
"it's up to her to bring in members. Didn't I see her going away last
night with the organizer, an _all-rightniker_, sure enough?"
Sophie was enraged at the personal motive ascribed to her, but still
more at having a devoted and unselfish union man called by a name used
to describe self-seeking climbers. "He's not like that," she said
indignantly, "he would to help us. I only talk with him to learn what to
do."
"Well, find me a good looking man who can speak English," Annie went on,
"and who'll take me to the theayter, and I'll go out on your strike,"
and she turned to receive reassuring smiles at her repartee and to start
on a new piece of chewing gum, for there was little time when Annie was
not in some fashion exercising her jaws.
Watching the two girls, one wondered whether in another generation
Sophie would resemble Annie; there seemed little reason to believe that
Annie would ever resemble Sophie. Annie was a loosely put together girl,
with nondescript features and an air of good-humored carelessness. An
unkind critic would have described her as common. She meant to have a
good time when she was young and perhaps to marry later when the good
time was over; that is, if marriage would assure her an easier life than
the one she now led--otherwise she would have nothing of it. She had
seen her mother burdened with many children and she did not mean to
follow her mother's example. Long hours were disagreeable, but it would
be more serious if the moving picture show across the way from where she
lived were to close its doors; that indeed would have aroused her
righteous wrath. Under her father's tutelage she had grown to believe
that an organization of girls was unfeminine, and she enjoyed ridiculing
Sophie's serious arguments and her picture of the coming day when the
worker should own the product of his toil. If the Jewish girl, however,
had made a personal appeal, if she had begged her to join the union not
for a principle but as a favor to herself, Annie would have walked to
headquarters and have put down her twenty cents; for she was a
spendthrift by nature and cared less for twenty cents than Sophie did
for one.
When the crash came it was a dramatic one. The "Parisian" girls had been
out for two weeks, the strikers demanding better pay, while the
employers tried to carry on their business with unskilled hands. Sophie
reported the situation each day at noon, and urged upon the "Imperial"
girls to stand by their striking sisters. Save with her own small group,
this argument missed fire. Nevertheless, the most of them were
interested in the struggle at the "Parisian" shop and watched hopefully
for the triumph of the strikers. On a Thursday morning in February, as
the girls began their work, the keener ones noted that there was a
difference in the stock. To Hertha it meant nothing, but to Sophie it
was portentous; and at noon, contrary to her custom, she rushed out into
the street. A few minutes before the noon hour was over she was back
again.
"Girls," she cried, hurrying into the room, "see, they give us scabs'
work!"
Standing by her machine, she waved her unfinished shirtwaist as though
it were an enemy banner. "It's 'Parisian,'" she cried, "there were not
enough scabs to do it in their own shop and so they sent it here! We are
breaking their strike, their strike for better pay!"
She spoke in Yiddish and the Jewish girls followed her excitedly,
expressing indignation at her news.
"We will strike, Sophie," her friend, Rachel, said. "We cannot do work
like this; it would be wicked."
Sophie again waved her enemy banner. "Will you be scabs?" she called
out, this time in English. "Do you not see? This is not our waist; it is
the 'Parisian.' I see the girls; they are downstairs, and they ask us to
stop, to stand by them as sisters."
"What's all this noise?" cried the foreman sternly as he entered the
room. And then without waiting for a response, though it was a few
minutes too soon, he threw on the power.
Sophie, Rachel, and a dozen other Jewish girls stood excitedly in the
aisle, failing to go to their seats.
"Get to work!" the foreman called above the din. Then thinking it
advisable to consult with a higher authority, he left the room.
In a moment Sophie had thrown off the power.
"Sisters," she cried, "down below are the 'Parisian' girls, waiting for
us. Will you be scabs? Will you take their work?"
"We'll pull down the shop," came from her adherents.
"No, you don't," came from Annie Black. "Those 'Parisian' sheenies can
stay out if they want for all me. I stop here."
"Oh!" Sophie cried. "Shame!"
She was a little figure, thin, underfed, but with the soul of the
fanatic gleaming from her deep eyes. Having known oppression in the land
of her birth, she recognized it in the land of her adoption. Poverty was
not something to accept as the beggar accepted his dole, nor was it
something to struggle against alone. It was a grievous disease that the
body politic might cure if only those who suffered courageously battled
for health. Before her was the vision of a world set free, and for the
moment at least there was to her no sacrifice in accepting hunger and
cold if such privation might bring a step nearer the freedom that she
worshiped. Only a few of the girls understood her call, but none doubted
her sincerity.
"See!" she said, drawing an imaginary line with her foot upon the floor.
"All who will not be scabs, all who will not take bread from the mouths
of others, come to me, cross the line!"
A number of the Jewish girls rose and walked to Sophie's side. Some went
with heads erect, eyes shining, exultant, as though drawing the fine
breath of freedom. Others moved slowly, hesitatingly, sometimes casting
angry looks at Sophie as though they wished to disobey her call and yet
dared not stand out against her. "You go?" asked the girl at Hertha's
right.
The call had been so sudden that Hertha, accustomed to taking her time
before making any decision, had not moved. The voice at her side aroused
her to do her part. Sophie was looking entreatingly in her direction;
and with the realization that her choice one way or the other was of
little personal moment, she rose from her chair and, saying quietly to
her seatmate, "I think we ought to go," crossed the line.
Her stand, little as she appreciated it, had its influence. She had
represented the aristocracy of the workroom. Had she been arrogant she
would have been hated, but her uniform gentleness coupled with her
refined face and graceful carriage, had made her a romantic character
about whom one might weave tales of former greatness or unrequited love.
That she should join the labor movement, linking herself with the
despised foreigner, made a dozen of the doubtful follow in her lead.
"You come, too?" called Sophie to the few remaining Jews and the group
of Americans.
"No!" cried Annie, "we ain't no dirty sheenies. We stand by the boss!"
"Scabs! Scabs!" Sophie hissed the word between her teeth. "Dirty scabs!"
and with a swift movement she flung the power on again. "Keep on, you
dirty scabs," she yelled, and, gathering her followers about her, rushed
from the room.
Below stood the "Parisian" girls, and as the strikers appeared, hastily
wrapped in their outer clothing, some with hats awry, others with coats
flung over their arms, they gave cheer after cheer.
"We knew you'd pull down the shop, Sophie," a big, handsome Jewess
cried, grasping the fragile strike-breaker by the arm. "We knew you'd
never let the boss keep you working at our leavings."
"Girls," called out another of the leaders, "this is the fourth shop to
go out this week. We'll win. Hurrah for the 'Imperial!' We'll win."
"Move on!" a policeman said sharply, pushing his way into the crowd.
"What are you doing blocking the street this way? You girls should be at
work!"
"We're on a strike," Sophie replied, "we go to Union Hall."
The officer watched them as they moved from the factory building,
muttering to himself that they were sure to make trouble striking at the
height of the season.
Hertha, though she tried to slip away, found herself caught up by the
crowd. She was embarrassed and conscious that they were all the source
of amused comment on the part of the spectators. Talking excitedly in
Yiddish, the "Imperials" swung into line with their "Parisian" sisters
and all started a triumphant progress down the avenue.
"Sure, you was fine," Sophie said to Hertha.
The little Jewish girl had grabbed her new recruit by the arm and with
glowing face was leading her along the road to organization and
industrial battle. There would be days and months ahead dedicated to the
struggle to secure a better wage. The time was momentous, the opening of
a great conflict. But to Hertha the time was auspicious for slipping
away from these noisy working girls. She had given up her job at their
call but she had no thought of following them in their struggle to get
their jobs back again. Yet here she was on the avenue in a crowd that
was attracting attention from the many passers-by. Supposing Richard
Brown should see her or one of the nice people who bowed to her at
church! She tried to make her escape, but it was as impossible to get
from Sophie's grasp as from the clutch of a small and very friendly bear
who had tucked your arm in his. So down the avenue and across into a
side street she was swept with the eager, excited band of
strike-breakers to Union Hall.
It was a small hall and crowded before they entered it. Confusion was
piled upon confusion. Hertha, dropped for a moment by Sophie, who turned
to speak to her organizer about whom the girls had joked, started at
once to leave the building, but, half lifted off her feet, was forcibly
pushed into a seat between two workers. Here she was compelled to remain
while a man with a long, dirty beard addressed the meeting in an unknown
tongue. So many people were moving about and talking in the rear of the
hall that, it seemed to her, even if she had understood Yiddish, she
would not have known what was being said. But occasionally the woman at
her left would interpret. "He tell you to get a card. Give name. See?"
There was nothing to attract her in the crowd, now that she saw it
assembled in this ill-smelling place. She thought the men rude and she
wished heartily to get away. But she was wedged in her seat and must
remain until time brought release. For a few minutes, however, when
Sophie Switsky was on the platform, Hertha listened with attention. Not
that she understood the words--Sophie used Yiddish--but emotion may
transcend and illumine any speech. Here stood a working girl, young,
almost childlike in appearance, whose face and tragic tones told of a
willingness to die if need be for a cause. Watching her, for the first
time since she had joined the crowd of strikers, Hertha forgot herself.
For a little she felt her heart beat in sympathy. But with a sudden
shock self-consciousness returned. Sophie had beckoned her, asking her
to come to the platform. "Tell what you did!" she called out, smiling.
"Some understand the English." The southern girl shook her head and when
the woman at her side tried to help her to the aisle, gripped her seat
with both hands. The horror of being made conspicuous swept over her
again, and she sat with burning cheeks until Sophie mercifully went back
to her Yiddish and left her alone.
The speeches were at length over and by dodging and doubling, running
from one "Imperial" girl only to have to run from another, Hertha
escaped from Union Hall leaving no trace behind. Home at last, she
looked with dismay at herself in the glass. The red quill was gone from
her hat, her curly hair was tumbling about her face, her coat was a mass
of wrinkles and she had caught her sleeve upon a nail and made a bad
rent. In a minute, however, she laughed. Freedom had come to her. She
would no longer spend her days in a noisy room bending over a machine.
She could mend the rent and press the coat and there were other quills
to be had in the shops. Life was before her again to do with as she
pleased. She recalled Sophie's dramatic cry. "Those who will not be
scabs, cross the line!"
"That's the second time I've done it," she said to herself.