DEPARTMENT G
Alone in her own room that same night, Patty thought out her great
project. She was not at all doubtful of her success, she was only
choosing among the various methods of earning money that occurred to her.
All were easy, and some of them even seemed delightful occupations.
"Father is an angel," she thought to herself; "a big, splendid angel. He
knew I could do my part easily enough, and he only made it a stipulation
because he didn't want to shoulder the whole affair outright. He wanted
me to feel I had a hand in it. He's so tactful and dear. Well, I'll do my
part so well, he'll have nothing to complain of. Then I'll get Nan to
write to the girl, and invite her here for a few days or a week. Then I
rather guess we can gently persuade her to accept the goods the gods
provide."
Considering the matter as settled, Patty went to sleep and dreamed
happily of her coming triumphs as a wage-earner.
"Do you go to business to-day, Miss Fairfield?" asked her father, at the
breakfast table.
"Yes, Mr. Fairfield. That is, I shall occupy myself with my--with my
occupation."
"Indeed! that is logical, at any rate. Would it be indiscreet to inquire
the nature of said occupation?"
"It would be not only indiscreet, but useless, for I decline to tell. But
it is work I shall do at home. I've no desire to enter an office. And,
you don't need a stenographer, anyway, do you?"
"No, and if I did, I shouldn't take you. You're too young and too
self-assured,--not desirable traits in office work."
"I may get over them both," said Patty, smiling at him.
"You probably will," said Nan, "before you've succeeded in this
ridiculous scheme you've undertaken."
"Now, Nannikins, don't desert Mr. Micawber in that cruel fashion," Patty
flung back, gaily; "the game's never out till it's played out, you know;
and this game isn't even yet begun."
"You'll be played out before the game is," said her father.
"Oh, daddy, I'm 'fraid that's slang! I am truly 'fraid so!"
"Well, mind now, Puss; you're not to tire yourself too much. Remember
when you 'most worked yourself to death, at your Commencement
celebration."
"Yes, but I've had a lot of experience since that. And I'm much weller
and stronger."
"Yes, you're well; but you're not of a very strong constitution, and
never will be. So remember, and don't overdo."
"Not I. I can earn fifteen dollars a week, and more too, I know, without
overdoing myself."
"Good-by, then; I must be off. I'll hear to-night the report of your
first day's work."
The family separated, and Patty ran singing away to make her preparations
for the campaign.
"What _are_ you doing?" asked Nan, as she went rummaging in the linen
closet.
"Nothing naughty," replied Patty, giggling. "Curb your curiosity,
stepmothery, for it won't be gratified."
Nan laughed and went away, and Patty proceeded to select certain very
pretty embroidered doilies and centrepieces,--two of each.
These she laid carefully in a flat box, which she tied up into a neat
parcel. Then she put on her plainest cloth suit, and a small, dark hat,
and was ready to start.
"Nan," she said, looking in at the library door, "what time do you want
the motor?"
"Oh, about eleven or twelve. Keep it as long as you like."
"It's only ten now. I'll be back in less than an hour, I'm sure.
Good-by."
"Good-by," returned Nan. "Good luck to you!"
She thought Patty's scheme ridiculous, but harmless, for she knew the
girl well enough to know she wouldn't do anything that might lead her
into an unpleasant position; but she feared that her boundless enthusiasm
would urge her on beyond the bounds of her nervous strength.
Though soundly healthy, Patty was high-strung, and stopped at no amount
of exertion to attain a desired end. More than once this nervous energy
of hers had caused physical collapse, which was what Nan feared for her
now.
But Patty feared nothing for herself, and going out to the waiting
motor-car, she gave the chauffeur an address down in the lower part of
Broadway.
It was so unusual, that Miller hesitated a moment and then said,
deferentially: "This is 'way downtown, Miss Patty; are you sure the
number is right?"
"Yes; that's all right," she returned, smiling; "go ahead."
So he went ahead, and after a long ride southward, the car stopped in the
crowded mercantile portion of lower Broadway.
Patty got out, and looked a little apprehensively at the unfamiliar
surroundings. "Wait for me," she said to Miller, and then turned
determinedly to the door.
Yes, the number was right. There was the sign, "Monongahela Art
Embroidery Company," on the window. Patty opened the big door, and went
in.
She had fancied it would be like the shops to which she was accustomed,
where polite floor-walkers stepped up and asked her wishes, but it was
not at all like that.
It was more like a large warehouse. Partitions that rose only part way to
the ceiling divided off small rooms or departments, all of which were
piled high with boxes or crates. The aisles between these were narrow,
and the whole place was rather dark. Moreover, there seemed to be nobody
about.
Patty sat down in a chair and waited a few moments, but no one appeared,
so she got up again.
"Here's where I need my pluck," she said to herself, not frightened, but
wondering at the situation. "I'll go ahead, but I feel like Alice in
Wonderland. I know I'll fall into a treacle well."
She traversed half the length of the long building, when she saw a man,
writing in one of the small compartments.
He looked up at her, and then, apparently without interest in her
presence there, resumed his work.
Patty was a little annoyed at what she thought discourtesy, and said:
"I've come to answer your advertisement."
"Fourth floor," said the man, indicating the direction by pointing his
penholder across the room, but not looking up.
"Thank you," said Patty, in a tone intended to rebuke his own lack of
manners.
But he only went on writing, and she turned to look for the elevator.
She could see none, however, so she walked on, thinking how like a maze
was this succession of small rooms and little cross aisles. When she saw
another man writing in another coop, she said politely:
"Will you please direct me to the elevator?"
"What?" said the man, looking at her.
Patty repeated her request.
"Ain't none," he said. "Want work?"
Though unpolished, he was not rude, and after a moment's hesitation,
Patty said, "Yes, I do."
"Have to hoof it, then. Three flights up; Department G."
"All right," said Patty, whose spirits always rose when she encountered
difficulties. She saw the staircase, now; a rough, wooden structure of
unplaned boards, and no balusters. But she trudged up the long flight
hopefully.
The next floor seemed to be full of whirring looms, and the noise was, as
Patty described it afterward, like the buzzing of a billion bees! But,
asking no further directions, she ascended the next staircase and the
next, until she found herself on the fourth floor.
Several people were bustling about here, all seeming to be very busy and
preoccupied.
"Where is Department G?" she inquired of a man hurrying by.
"Ask at the desk," he replied, without pausing.
This was ambiguous, as there were more than a score of desks about, each
tenanted by a busy man, more often than not accompanied by a
stenographer.
"Oh, dear, what a place!" thought Patty. No one would attend to her
wants; no one seemed to notice her. She believed she could stand there
all day if she chose, without being spoken to.
Clearly, she must take the initiative.
She saw a pleasant-faced woman at a desk, and decided to address her.
"Where is Department G, please?" she asked.
"G?" said the woman, looking blank.
"Yes, G. The man downstairs told me it was on the fourth floor. Isn't
this the fourth floor?"
"Yes, it is."
"Then, where is Department G?"
"G?"
"Yes, _G_!"
"I don't know, I'm sure."
"Who does know?"
"I don't know."
The absurdity of this conversation made Patty smile, which seemed to
irritate the other.
"I can't help it if I don't know," she snapped out. "I'm new here,
myself; only came yesterday. I don't know where G is, I'm sure."
"Excuse me," said Patty, sorry that she had smiled, and she turned away.
She caught a red-headed boy, as he passed, whistling, and said:
"Do _you_ know where Department G is?"
"Sure!" said the boy, grinning at her. "Sashay straight acrost de room.
Pipe de guy wit' de goggles?"
"Thank you," said Patty, restraining her desire to smile at the funny
little chap.
She went over to the desk indicated. The man seated there looked at her
over his glasses, and said:
"To embroider?"
"Yes," said Patty.
"Take a chair. Wait a few moments. I'm busy."
Relieved at having reached her goal, Patty sat down in the chair
indicated and waited. She waited five minutes and then ten, and then
fifteen.
The man was busy; there was no doubt of that. He dashed off memoranda,
gave them to messengers, telephoned, whisked drawers open and shut, and
seemed to be in a very whirl of business.
As there was no indication of a cessation, Patty grew impatient, at last,
and said:
"Can you attend to my business soon? If not, I'll call some other day."
"Yes," said the man, passing his hand across his brow a little wearily.
He looked tired, and overworked, and Patty felt sorry for him.
But he whirled round in his office chair and asked her quite civilly what
she wanted.
"You advertised for embroiderers," began Patty, feeling rather small and
worthless, "so I came----"
"Yes, yes," said the man, as she paused. "Can you embroider? We use only
the best. Have you samples of your work?"
"I have," said Patty, beginning to untie her box.
But her fingers trembled, and she couldn't unknot the cord.
The man took it from her, not rudely, but as if every moment were
precious. Deftly he opened the parcel, and gave a quick glance at Patty's
exquisite needlework on the doilies and centrepieces she had brought.
"Do it yourself?" he asked, already closing the box again.
"Yes, of course," said Patty, indignant at the implication.
"No offence; that's all right. Your work goes. Report at Department B.
Good-day."
He handed her the box, whirled round to his desk, and was immediately at
his work again.
Patty realised she was dismissed, and, taking her box, she started for
the stairs.
She passed the red-headed boy again, and feeling almost as if she were
meeting an old friend in a strange land, she said: "Where is Department
B?"
"Caught on, didjer?" he grinned. "Good fer youse! B, first floor,--that
way."
He pointed a grimy finger in the direction she should take, and went on,
whistling. Down the three flights of stairs went Patty, and thanks to the
clarity of the red-headed one's direction, she soon found Department B.
This was in charge of a sharp-faced woman, rather past middle age.
"Sent by Mr. Myers?" she inquired, looking at Patty coldly.
"I was sent by the man in Department G," returned Patty. "He said my work
would do, and that I was to report to you."
"All right; how much do you want?" said the woman.
"How much do you pay?" returned Patty.
"Don't be impertinent, miss! I mean how much work do you want?"
"Oh," said Patty, who was quite innocent of any intent to offend. "Why, I
want enough to last a week."
"Well, that depends on how fast you work," said the woman, speaking with
some asperity. "Come now, do you want a dozen, or two dozen, or what?"
Patty was strongly tempted to say: "What, thank you!" but she refrained,
knowing it was no occasion for foolery.
"I don't know till I see them," she replied. "Are they elaborate pieces?"
"Here they are," said the woman, taking some pieces of work from a box.
Her tone seemed to imply that she was conferring an enormous favour on
Patty by showing them.
They were rather large centrepieces, all of the same pattern, which was
stamped, but not embroidered.
"There's a lot of work on those," remarked Patty.
"Oh, you _are_ green!" said the woman. She jerked out another similar
centrepiece, on which a small section, perhaps one-eighth of the whole,
was worked in silks.
"This is what you're to do," she explained, in a tired, cross voice. "You
work this corner, and that's all."
"Who works the rest?" asked Patty, amazed at this plan.
"Why, the buyer. We sell these to the shops; they sell them to people who
use this finished corner as a guide to do the rest of the piece. Can't
you understand?"
"Yes, I can, now that you explain it," returned Patty. "Then if I take a
dozen, I'm to work just that little corner on each one; is that it?"
"That's it," said the woman, wearily, as if she were making the
explanation for the thousandth time,--as she probably was.
"You can take this as a guide for yourself," she went on, a little more
kindly, "and here's the silks. Did you say a dozen?"
"Wait a minute," said Patty; "how much do you pay?"
"Five dollars."
"Apiece, I suppose. Yes, I'll take a dozen." The woman gave a hard little
laugh.
"Five dollars apiece!" she said. "Not much! We pay five dollars a dozen."
"A dozen? Five dollars for all that work! Why, each of those corners is
as much work as a whole doily."
"Yes, just about; do you work fast?"
"Yes; pretty fast."
Patty was doing some mental calculation. Three dozen of those pieces
meant an interminable lot of work. But it also meant fifteen dollars, and
Patty's spirit was now fully roused.
"I'll take three dozen," she said, decidedly; "and I'll bring them back,
finished, a week from to-day."
"My, you must be a swift worker," said the woman, in a disinterested
voice.
She was already sorting out silks, as with a practised hand, and making
all into a parcel.
Patty was about to offer her a visiting card, as she assumed she must
give her address, when the woman said:
"Eighteen dollars, please."
"What?" said Patty. "What for?"
"Security. You don't suppose we let everybody walk off with our
materials, and never come back, do you?"
"Do you doubt my honesty?" said Patty, haughtily.
"Don't doubt anybody's honesty," was the reply. "Some folks don't have
any to doubt. But it's the rule of the house. Six dollars a dozen is the
deposit price for that pattern."
"But eighteen dollars is more than you're going to pay me for the work,"
said Patty.
"Yes," said the woman, "but can't you understand? This is a deposit to
protect ourselves if you never return, or if you spoil the work. If you
bring it back in satisfactory condition, at the appointed time, we return
your deposit, and pay you the price agreed upon for the work."
"Oh, I see," said Patty, taking out her purse. "And it does seem fair.
But isn't it hard for poor girls to put up that deposit?"
"Yes, it is." The woman's face softened a little. "But they get it
back,--if they do the work right."
"And suppose I bring it back unfinished, or only part done?"
"If what you do is done right, you'll get paid. And if the pieces you
don't do are unsoiled and in good condition, we redeem them. But if you
care for steady work here, you'd better not take more'n you can
accomplish."
"Thank you," said Patty, slowly. "I'll keep the three dozen.
Good-morning."
"Good-day," said the woman, curtly, and turned away with a tired sigh.
Patty went out to the street, and found Miller looking exceedingly
anxious about the prolonged absence of his young mistress.
A look of relief overspread his face as she appeared, and when she got
into the car and said: "Home, Miller," he started with an air of decided
satisfaction.