NEW YORK'S HUMANITY
Mrs. Jocelyn drooped in her husband's absence, for every year had
increased her sense of dependence. She felt somewhat like one who
is drifting on a wreck. If the sea would only remain calm, all might
be well; but the sea never is at rest very long, and if storms,
dangers, and emergencies occurred what would she do?
Each day that passed without word from her husband grew longer,
and when at last a letter came it was vague and unsatisfactory.
He hoped he was better; he hoped to find a foothold; and then came
again several days of silence which were almost as oppressive to
Mildred as to herself.
Meanwhile their funds were failing fast, and they both felt that
they ought not to sell anything else for mere living expenses.
More critical emergencies might arise and find them destitute. If
Mr. Jocelyn should become seriously ill in the South, they must be
in a position to have him cared for and brought home. Mildred with
extreme reluctance was compelled to face the necessity of giving
up her studies so that she might earn something at once. She had
about decided to reveal her troubles to Miss Wetheridge, when a
hasty note from her friend swept away all immediate chance of aid
in that direction. "The gentleman to whom I was soon to be married,"
she wrote, "has not been strong for a year past, and a few days
since he was taken with a hemorrhage from his lungs. His physician
ordered him to go immediately to Nassau. In accordance with our
mutual wishes we were married quietly in the presence of a few
relatives, and by the time this note reaches you we shall be on our
way to the South. My heart is burdened with anxiety, and my hourly
prayer is that God will spare the life of one so dear to me. I wish
I could see you before I sail, but it is impossible. I have had to
leave almost everything undone. Write me often."
This note threw Mildred on her own resources. She felt that Mr.
Wentworth could do little for her beyond certifying to her character,
for he was the pastor of a congregation of which a large proportion
were as poor as herself. There was naught to do but go to work like
the others in uncomplaining silence and earn her bread.
One evening she learned from Belle that the increased trade incident
to the approaching holiday season had rendered more help necessary,
and that one large shop on Sixth Avenue had already made known
this need. When the doors opened the following morning, Mildred
was among the crowd of applicants, and her appearance was so much
in her favor that she was engaged at once on a salary of six dollars
a week. Only immediate necessity could have induced her to take
this step, for she justly doubted her ability to endure the strain
of standing continuously. The shop, however, was full of girls as
frail-looking as herself, and it was the only certainty of support
within her reach. Her mother cried bitterly over the step, and
she, also, could not hide a few tears, brave as she tried to be;
but she said resolutely, "I'm no better than hundreds of others,
and if they can endure it I can and will, for a while at least."
The first day was one that she never forgot. The bright sun and
clear, bracing atmosphere brought out crowds of shoppers, but the
air of the store soon became vitiated, hot, and lifeless. In this
close, stifling place she was compelled to stand, elbowed by other
girls who were strangers to her, and too busy or too indifferent
to aid materially her inexperienced efforts to learn her duties.
She made blunders, for which she was scolded; she grew bewildered
and faint, and when the few moments of nooning came she could not
eat the lunch her mother had prepared. If she could only have had
a cup of strong coffee she might have got through the day; but her
employers were much too thrifty to furnish such a luxury, and she
was too tired, and the time allotted her much too brief to permit
its quest. Therefore she tried to rest a little from the intolerable
fatigue and pain of standing, and to collect her thoughts.
The afternoon crush of customers was greater even than that which
had crowded the counters in the morning, and she grew more and
more bewildered under the confused fire of questions and orders.
If any one had had the time or heart to observe, there would have
been seen in her eyes the pathetic, fearful look of some timid
creature of the woods when harried and driven to bay by hounds.
Suddenly everything grew black before her eyes; the piled-up goods,
the chattering throng, faded, and she sank to the floor--there was
no room for her to fall.
When she revived she found that she had been carried to the cloak-room,
in which the girls ate their lunch, and that a woman was kneeling
beside her applying restoratives. In a few moments one of the managers
looked in and asked, in an off-hand way, "How is she getting on?"
With the instinct of self-preservation Mildred sat up, and pleaded,
"Indeed, sir, I'm better. It was all so strange--the air was close.
I beg of you not to discharge me. I will learn soon."
"Oh, don't be so worried," the man replied good-naturedly. "It's
nothing new to have a girl faint on the first day. You'll get used
to it by and by like the rest. Will you be well enough to walk
home, or shall I have a carriage ordered?"
"Please don't get a carriage. It would frighten mamma terribly,
and she would not let me come back, and I MUST come, for we need
every penny I can earn."
"Well, now, that's sensible, and you save the carriage hire also.
You're a fine-looking, plucky girl, and I'll give you a place at
the lace counter, near the door, where the air is better and the
work lighter (and where her pretty face will do us no harm," he
added mentally).
"You are very kind, sir, and I can't tell you how much I thank
you."
"All right, you'll get into training and do as well as the best,
so don't be discouraged," and the man had the grace or business
thrift--probably a blending of both--to send her a cup of coffee.
She was then left to rest, and go home when she felt like it. As
early as she dared without exciting her mother's suspicions, she
crept away, almost as the wounded slowly and painfully leave a
field of battle. Her temples still throbbed; in all her body there
was a slight muscular tremor, or beating sensation, and her step
faltered from weakness. To her delicate organization, already
reduced by anxiety, sedentary life, and prolonged mental effort,
the strain and nervous shock of that day's experiences had been
severe indeed.
To hide the truth from her despondent mother was now her chief hope
and aim. Her fatigue she would not attempt to disguise, for that
would be unnatural. It was with difficulty she climbed the one flight
of stairs that led to their room, but her wan face was smiling as
she pushed open the door and kissed her mother in greeting. Then
throwing herself on the lounge she cried gayly, "Come, little
mother, give me an old maid's panacea for every ill of life--a cup
of strong tea."
"Millie," cried Mrs. Jocelyn, bending over her with moist eyes,
"you look pale and gone--like--"
"Oh no, mamma, I'm here--a good hundred and ten pounds of me, more
or less."
"But how did you get through the day?"
"You will hardly believe it," was the reassuring reply; "I've been
promoted already from work that was hard and coarse to the lace
counter, which is near the door, where one can breathe a little
pure air. If the goods were as second-hand as the air they would
not have a customer. But come, mamma dear, I'm too tired to talk,
and would rather eat, and especially drink. These surely are good
symptoms."
"Millie, you are a soldier, as we used to say during the war,"
said Mrs. Jocelyn, hastening the preparations for supper; "but you
cannot deceive a mother's eyes. You are more exhausted than you
even realize yourself. Oh, I do wish there was some other way. I'd
give all the world if I had Mrs. Wheaton's stout red arms, for I'd
rather wash all day and half the night than see you and Belle so
burdened early in life."
"I wouldn't have my beautiful mamma changed even by one gray hair,"
was the very natural response.
Belle nearly rendered futile all of Mildred's efforts to hide the
worst from her mother; for, after her duties were over, she went
eagerly to the shop where she expected to find her sister. Having
learned that Miss Jocelyn had fainted and had gone home some time
in the afternoon, she sped almost breathlessly after her, and burst
into the room with the words, "Millie! Millie!"
Fortunately Mrs. Jocelyn was busy over the stove at the moment
and did not see Mildred's strong cautionary gesture; but Belle's
perceptions were almost instantaneous, and with one significant
glance of her dark eyes she entered into the loving conspiracy.
"What is it, Belle?" was Mrs. Jocelyn's anxious query.
"I'm wild to know how Millie has got on the first day, and whether
she has a big fight on her hands as I had. If she has, I declare
war, too, against all the powers and principalities--not of the
air, for there wasn't a breath of it in our store to-day. We've
had a crush, and I'm half dead from trying to do two days' work in
one. Ten minutes for lunch. Scores of cross customers all wanting
to be waited on at once, and the floor-walkers flying around like
hens bereft of heads, which, after all, are never of much use to
either. In spite of all, here we are, mamma, ready for a cup of
your good tea and other fixin's. Now, Millie, it's your turn. I've
let off enough steam to be safe till after supper. Have you made
cruel enemies to-day, from whom you desire my protection?"
"No, Belle," said Mildred, laughing; "I haven't your force and
brilliancy, and have made but a humdrum beginning. I was so stupid
at one counter that they transferred me to another, and I'm glad
of it, for laces are pretty, and taking care of them wouldn't seem
like drudgery at all. Best of all, it's near the door, and every
customer will give me a sustaining breath."
"Millie is standing it capitally for a beginner," Belle remarked,
with the air of a veteran, as Mildred eagerly drank her cup of tea
and asked for more. "I was so tired the first night that it seemed
as if I could scarcely swallow a mouthful."
Thus they carried out the little ruse, careful not to exaggerate,
for Mrs. Jocelyn's intuitions were quick.
As it was she looked at her child with many misgivings, but she
tried for their sakes to be cheerful, and praised the courage and
spirit of both the girls, assuring them that they showed their true
Southern blood, and that they reminded her of their father when,
during his brief visits, he talked over the long, hard campaigns.
At last they were in the privacy of their own room, and Mildred, as
if she were the weaker and younger, buried her face on her sister's
shoulder and sobbed despairingly, "Oh, Belle, you are the stronger.
I fear I can't stand it at all. I've suffered more to-day than
in all my life, and my feet and back still ache--oh, I can't tell
you."
The child soothed and comforted her, and said she had suffered just
the same at first, and often still she felt that if she could not
sit down for a few moments she would drop down; "but there, Millie,"
she concluded, with the best philosophy the case admitted of, "you
get used to it gradually--you can get used to anything."
"I don't believe I can," was the dejected reply, "and yet I must,
if we would have shelter and bread. Oh that we might hear some good
news from papa! Why don't he write oftener? I fear it is because
he has nothing cheering to tell us."
The next morning, in spite of all effort, Mildred was too ill and
lame to rise, but she instructed Belie to assure her employer that
she would come the following day.
Mrs. Jocelyn tried hard to persuade her not to go back at all, and
at last Mildred grew a little stern and said emphatically, "Please
say no more, mamma. We can afford none of this weak nonsense. I
must earn my bread, as do other girls, and have no time to lose."
The following day, fortunately, was so stormy that customers were
scattering, and Mildred had a chance to gain an idea of her duties
and to rest a little from time to time, for out of consideration of
the facts that she had been ill and was a beginner, she was permitted
to sit down occasionally. She was so attractive in appearance, and
had brought such an excellent certificate of character, that the
proprietors were inclined to be lenient, and smooth a little the
harsh and thorny path of a beginner.
And so the weary days dragged on, and she slowly acquired the power
to stand as did the others. They were days, however, which ended
in a close approach to agony, from which the nights brought but
slight and temporary relief, for so great was the pain in her feet
and back that she would moan even in her sleep. Her sufferings were
scarcely less than at first, but, as Belle said, she was "getting
used" to them.
It is a well-known fact that many would persist in living in spite
of all the tortures of the Inquisition. I wonder if the old-time
inquisitors and their "familiars" were ingenious enough to compel
delicate women to stand and talk all day, and sometimes part of
the night?
In very truth, the poor girl was earning her bread by torture, and
she soon found that she had many companions in suffering who, with
woman's capacity for the patient endurance of pain, made the best
of their lot, often trying to forget themselves in jests, laughter,
and gossip, planning, meanwhile, in odd moments, for some snatch at
the few pleasures that their brief evenings permitted--pleasures,
too often, in which Mildred could or would take no part. While her
gentleness and courtesy to all gave no cause for hostility, her
air of quiet aloofness and her recognized superiority prevented
her from becoming a favorite, nor did the many admiring looks and
even open advances that she received from the young men in the
store, and occasionally from customers, add to her popularity. The
male clerks soon found, however, that beyond the line warranted by
their mutual duties she was utterly unapproachable, and not a few
of them united in the view held by the girls, that she was "stuck
up"; but since she was not in the least above her business, no one
could complain openly.
As one long, exceedingly busy and weary day was drawing to a close,
however, she received a sharp reprimand. A gentleman had agreed
to meet his wife at the shop as he came up town, in order that
they might together make provision for Christmas. The lady having
nearly accomplished her round, and having proved herself a liberal
purchaser, she was naturally accompanied toward the door by a very
amiable foreman, who was profuse in his thanks. Suddenly it occurred
to her that she would look at the laces, and she approached Mildred,
who, in a momentary respite, was leaning back against the shelves
with closed eyes, weary beyond all words of description.
"Will you please wake that young woman up," the lady remarked, a
little sharply.
This the foreman did, in a way that brought what little blood the
poor girl had left into her face. The shopper sat down on the plush
seat before the counter, and was soon absorbed in the enticing wares,
while her husband stood beside her and stole sidelong glances at
the weary but beautiful face of the saleswoman.
"Jupiter Ammon," he soliloquized mentally, "but she is pretty!
If that flush would only last, she'd be beautiful; but she's too
pale and fagged for that--out to a ball last night, I imagine. She
don't even notice that a man's admiring her--proof, indeed, that
she must have danced till near morning, if not worse. What lives
these girls lead, if half the stories are true! I'd like to see that
one rested, fresh, and becomingly dressed. She'd make a sensation
in a Fifth Avenue drawing-room if she had the sense to keep her
mouth shut, and not show her ignorance and underbreeding."
But he was growing impatient, and at last said, "Oh, come, my dear,
you've bought enough to break me already. We'll be late for dinner."
The lady rose reluctantly, and remarked, "Well, I think I'll come
and look at these another day," and they were bowed out of the
door.
"You must be more alert," said the foreman, imperatively, to Mildred.
"These people are among the best and wealthiest in town."
"I'll try," was the meek answer.
The gentleman had hardly reached the sidewalk, however, before
all his chivalry and indignation were aroused. Under the press of
Christmas times a drayman had overloaded his cart, and the horse was
protesting in his dumb way by refusing to budge an inch; meanwhile
the owner proved himself scarcely equal to the animal he drove by
furious blows and curses, which were made all the more reckless by
his recent indulgence in liquor.
The poor beast soon found many champions, and foremost among them
was the critic of the weary shop-girl, who had suffered more that
day than the horse was capable of suffering in his lifetime. The
distinguished citizen, justly irate, I grant, sent his wife home
in their carriage, and declared that he would neither eat nor sleep
until he had seen the brute--the drayman, not the horse--arrested
and looked up, and he kept his word.
Much later, the wronged and tortured human creature of whom he had
surmised evil, and on whom he had bestowed at best only a little
cynical admiration, crept home with steps that faltered, burdened
with a heaviness of heart and a weariness of body which could be
measured only by the pitiful eye of Him who carries the world's
sins and sorrows.
The rescued horse munched his oats in stolid tranquillity, the woman
raised to heaven her eyes, beneath which were dark, dark lines,
and murmured, "O God, how long?"