Part 8

It drew rich and poor alike these days, and sooner or later the toy department gathered them in. Though Stella came not, there were many of familiar aspect who did. Hardly a day passed without its greeting from some one Jean knew. Mrs. St. Aubyn came shopping on account of an incredible grandchild she must remember; the bookworm for the cogent reason that a cherubic niece brought him; the birds of passage to celebrate an engagement obtained at last; the shorn lambs of Wall Street to revive fading memories of a full pocketbook; the stenographer and the manicure since they were women; the dentist because of Jean.

It was impossible to mistake Paul's reason. Her fellow-clerks hinted it, Mr. Rose reënforced their opinion with his own, Amy added embroidered comment, and finally Paul told her explicitly himself. On the first evening, when he appeared at her counter near the closing hour, he bought a game. At his second call, a week later, he examined at length, but did not purchase. The third time he said that he had happened by; the fourth he cast subterfuge to the winds and avowed frankly that he came to walk home with her.

"Fact is, I'm lonesome," he explained, when they reached the street. "Till you came I never got a chance to talk to the right sort of girl except in the operating-chair, and that didn't cut much ice, for it was always about teeth. Hope you don't mind my dropping round for you once in a while after office hours? It will keep these street-corner mashers away from you and do a lot toward civilizing me."

Jean accepted his companionship as frankly as it was tendered. There was nothing loverlike about Paul's attitude. He was precisely the same whether they walked alone or whether, as frequently happened, Amy came down with her to the employees' entrance, where Jean had suggested that they meet. His escort was doubly welcome during the last week before Christmas when the great store kept open evenings, and the shopping quarter held its nightly jam. Then, perhaps a fortnight after the holidays, she overheard a conversation.

It was not about herself, nor among girls she knew, nor indeed in her department; merely a scrap of waspish dispute between two young persons of free speech who supposed themselves in sole possession of the cloak-room. Black Eyes remarked that she knew very well what Blue Eyes was. She didn't belong there; her place was the East Side. Whereupon Blue Eyes elegantly retorted that unless Black Eyes shut her mouth, she would smash her ugly face in. This was evidently purely rhetorical, for when Black Eyes waxed yet more personal, pointing out the inconsistent relation of fifteen-dollar picture hats to six dollars a week, with pertinent reference to a bald floor-walker from the carpet department who waited for Blue Eyes every night, the only act of violence was the slamming of a door which covered Blue Eyes's swift retreat.

That evening Jean told the dentist he must come no more.

"Suffering bicuspid!" he gasped. "What have _I_ done?" This despite her tactful best to assure him that he had done nothing at all.

It seemed enormously difficult of explanation at first, but when she suggested that she found the department store not unlike a small town for gossip, he comprehended instantly.

"Who has been talking?" he demanded. "If it was that pup of a floor-walker--"

"It wasn't. So far as I know, not a soul has mentioned my name. It's because they mustn't talk, that I've spoken."

Paul squared a by no means puny pair of shoulders.

"Let me catch 'em at it!" he said.

She was more watchful of her fellow-clerks thereafter. A few girls she doubted, but striking an average, they seemed as a class honest, hard-working, and monotonously commonplace, with their loftiest ambitions centered upon tawdry and impracticable clothes. If a girl dressed better than her wage warranted, as many did, it usually developed that she lived with her parents or with other relations who gave her cheap board. These lucky beings had also a social existence denied to the wholly self-supporting, of which Jean obtained a perhaps typical glimpse through a vivacious little rattlepate at the adjoining mechanical-toy counter, with whom friendly overtures between customers led to the discovery that they were neighbors, and to a call at the three dormers. This courtesy Jean in due course returned one evening, at the paternal flat over an Eighth Avenue grocery, where "Flo," as she petitioned to be called, rejoiced in the exclusive possession of a small bedroom ventilated, though scarcely illumined, by an air-shaft.

"Mother gave me this room to myself when I began to bring in money," she explained. "I only have to hand over two dollars a week. What's left I spend just as I please. Father says I buy more clothes than the rest of the family put together, and he nearly threw a fit once when I paid twelve dollars for a lace hat trimmed with imported flowers; but all the same he doesn't like to see any of the girls I go with look better than I do. Our crowd is great for dress. How do you like my cozy corner? I think these wire racks for photographs are sweet, don't you? I have such a stack of fellows' pictures! I wonder if you know any of them. The man in the dress suit is Willy Larkin--he's in the gents' furnishing department. I put him next to Dan Evans--you know Dan, don't you?--because they're so tearing jealous of each other. If Dan takes me to a Sousa concert one night, Willy can't rest till he has spread himself on vaudeville or some exciting play. They almost came to blows over a two-step I promised both of them at the subscription hop our dancing club gave New Year's. That tintype you're looking at is one Charlie Simmons and I had taken at Glen Island last year. Goodness! Don't hold _my_ face to the light. I'm a fright in a bathing-suit. I do love bathing, though, but I think salt water is packs more fun. Last summer I had enough saved for a whole week at a dandy beach near Far Rock-away. There was a grand dancing pavilion, and sometimes you could hear the waves above the band. I just love the sea!"

Jean was not envious, but the girl's chatter made her own existence outside the store seem humdrum. Mrs. St. Aubyn's circle was more narrow than had at first appeared. After a few dinners, it was obvious that the landlady's talk was nearly always confined to the food and servants, as the librarian's was limited to the weather, the shorn lambs' to things financial, and the stenographer's, the manicure's, and Amy's to feminine styles, while the birds of passage, whose side-lights upon the Profession had been diverting, were now lamentably displaced by an insurance agent who dwelt overmuch upon the uncertainty of human life. It had to be admitted, also, that Paul himself talked shop with frequency. His stories, like his droll ejaculations, were apt to smack of the office; and he had a habit of carrying gold crowns or specimens of bridgework in his pockets, which, though no doubt works of art of their kind, were yet often disconcerting when shown in mixed company. At such times especially, Jean would evoke that knightlier figure, who shone so faultless in perspective, and in fancy put him in Paul's place.

She perceived the dentist's foibles, however, without liking the essential man one whit the less, and, in the absence of the Ideal, frequently took Sunday trolley trips with him in lieu of the tabooed walks from the store; but the fear of meeting Stella made her decline his invitations to the theater and kept her from the streets at night. Paul took these self-denials for maiden scruples beyond his masculine comprehension, and was edified rather than offended; but he was at first puzzled and then hurt, when, as spring drew on, the outings also ceased. Jean was evasive when questioned, while Amy looked knowing, but was too loyal to explain. The stenographer or the manicure or, for that matter, any normal woman could, if asked, have told him that Jean was merely ashamed of her clothes.

It was largely because Paul misunderstood that Jean resolved no longer to wait passively for promotion. Six dollars a week had their limitations, since five went always to Mrs. St. Aubyn for board. Yet, out of that scant margin of a sixth, she had somehow scraped together enough to replace what she had used of Mrs. Fanshaw's grudging contribution, the whole of which she despatched to Shawnee Springs in a glow of wrathful satisfaction that cheered her for many days. Nevertheless, the want of it pinched her shrewdly. Those ten dollars would have helped spare the refuge suit, which, fortunately black, did duty seven days in the week and looked it, too, now that the mild days began to outnumber the raw, and other girls bloomed in premature spring finery. Many of the bargains which the great store was forever advertising would have aided in little ways, but the management was opposed to its employees' profiting by these chances.

During the continued ill health of the department manager, Mr. Rose still wielded an extended authority, and to him, accordingly, Jean made her appeal, overtaking him on his way to the offices one evening when the immense staff was everywhere hurrying from the building. The carpet and upholstery department, where they talked, was ever a place of muffled quiet, even with business at high tide, and, save for an occasional night-watchman, they seemed isolated now. Rose heard her out, lounging with feline complacency upon a soft-hued heap of Oriental rugs, while his eyes roamed her eager face with candid approval.

Jean saw with anger that he no longer attended.

"You are not listening," she reproached. "Can't you appreciate what this means to me? Look at my shoes! They're all I have. Look at this suit! It's my only one. I've saved no money to buy other clothes--it's impossible. You say I'm efficient--pay me living wages, then. I can't live on what you give me. I've tried and I've failed--failed like the girl before me."

The floor-walker slid smiling from the rug pile.

"She was inconceivably plain," he said; "but you--" He spread his white hands in futile search of adjectives.

"Never mind my looks, Mr. Rose," Jean struck in curtly. "I am talking business."

"So am I, my dear. I'm pointing out your resources."

She did not take his meaning fully, his leer notwithstanding, and he drew his own interpretation of her silence.

"You know we don't lack for applicants here," he continued. "There are a dozen girls waiting to jump into your shoes. We expect our low-paid girls to have additional means of support. Some of them have families; others--but you're no fool. There are plenty of men who'd be glad to help you out. Why don't you arrange things with that young dentist? Or"--his smile grew more saccharine--"if that affair is off, perhaps I--"

Then something transpired which he never clearly understood. It was plain enough to Jean. In the twinkling of an eye she was again an athletic boxing tomboy, answering to the name of Jack, before whose scientific "right" Mr. Rose dropped with crumpled petals to the floor.

XIII

Jean stood over him an instant, her anger still at white heat, but the floor-walker had had enough of argument and only groveled cursing where he fell. Leaving him without a word, she swept by a grinning night-watchman and turned in at the adjacent offices, whither Rose himself was bound. She had learned the ways of the place sufficiently by now to know that members of the firm often lingered here after the army which served them had gone, and she was determined that her own story should reach them first. But the office of the head of the firm was dark, and the consequential voice which answered her knock at the door of a junior partner, where a light still shone, proved to be that of a belated stenographer.

As she turned uncertainly away, Rose, nursing a swelling eye, again confronted her.

"Thought you'd take it to headquarters, did you?" he said. "I advise you to drop it right here."

He recoiled as she advanced, and warded an imaginary blow, but she only passed him by contemptuously.

"Are you going to drop it?" he asked, following to the stairs. "I don't want to see you get into trouble, for all your nasty temper. I'm willing to overlook your striking me."

His persistence only fixed her resolution to expose him, and she hurried on without reply.

"Two can play at that game," he warned over the rail.

In the street she paused irresolutely. The man would, of course, protect himself if he could, and her own story should reach some member of the firm to-night. If she waited till morning, Rose could easily forestall her. Yet she had become too sophisticated not to shrink from the idea of trying to take her grievance into one of those men's homes. Only the other day she had picked up a trashy paper containing a shop-girl story, warmly praised by Amy, which narrated an incident of the kind. The son and heir of a merchant prince--so the author styled him--had cruelly wronged the beautiful shop-girl, who, after harrowing sorrows, took her courage in her hands and braved the ancestral hall. She gained an entrance somehow (details were scanty here) and confronted the base son and heir at the climax of a grand ball at which the upper ten and other numerals were assembled to do honor to his chosen bride. Jean had seen the absurdity of the picture as Amy could not. Things did not fall out this wise in real life. The beautiful shop-girl would never have gotten by the merchant prince's presumably well-trained servants, even if she had eluded the specially detailed policeman at the awning, and Jean judged that her own chances would be as slender.

Nevertheless, there seemed to be nothing left her but to try. She consulted a directory in the next drugstore and copied out the home addresses of the several members of the firm. One of the junior partners seemed to live nearest, though not within walking distance, and at this address she finally arrived at an hour when, judging Fifth Avenue by Mrs. St. Aubyn's, she feared she would find her employer at dinner. She recognized the house as one which Amy had pointed out with an air of proprietorship on their first Sunday walk, and she reflected with misgiving that it was a really plausible setting for the drama of the beautiful shop-girl, did such things exist.

An elderly butler convinced her that this was her own drama. He was not unbearably haughty, a vast quantity of polite fiction to the contrary; and if he scorned her clothes, he did not let the fact appear. His manner even suggested decorous regret that the master of the house was not at home. Jean went down the steps, wondering whether this were an artistic lie, but, happily for the servant's reputation, an electric cab at this moment drew up at the curb and dropped the man she sought. She recognized him at once, for of all the firm he had the most striking presence, looking very like the more jovial portraits of Henry VIII. Unlike the Tudor king, however, he was said to be happily married and of domestic tastes. He paused, giving her a keen look, when he perceived that she meant to accost him.

"I just asked for you." Jean said. "I wanted to speak to you about something at the store."

"You are one of our employees?"

"Yes. I am a sales girl in the toy department. I wish to make a serious complaint."

"A complaint? Your own department is the proper channel for that."

"I cannot ask the man to judge himself," returned Jean, simply.

He gave her another sharp look.

"Oh," he said, with a change of tone. "Come in." Then, to the elderly butler, who during this interval had held the door ajar with an air of not listening, "The Study."

Jean seemed to recall that the beautiful shop-girl had encountered a "study," which could have been no more luxurious than this. She queried, while she waited, what the library and more pretentious apartments could be like. The room seemed to her of regal splendor. It was paneled and cross-beamed, and a fireplace in keeping with the architecture well-nigh filled one end wall. The light fell from a wonderful affair of opalescent glass which gave new tones to the oriental fabrics underfoot and added richness to the lavishly employed mahogany. No other wood had been permitted here. It glowed dully from beam, panel, and cornice; from the mantel, the bookshelves, the carved cabinet concealing a safe; from the massive griffin-legged desk at which the owner of it all, as florid as his taste, presently took his seat.

"Now, then," he said, "tell me explicitly what you charge."

She omitted nothing. Her listener followed her closely and once, when she gave Rose's version of the firm's policy, he shook his head dissentingly, but whether in disbelief of herself or in condemnation of the floor-walker, she could not guess.

"This is a grave accusation," he said, when she had done. "It involves not only Mr. Rose,--who, let me say, has always been most efficient,--but the good name of the whole establishment."

"That is one reason why I came."

"Of the whole establishment," repeated the junior partner, as if she had not spoken. "Was there a third party present?"

"There was a watchman near by, but he couldn't have heard what was said."

"You are quite sure you did not misunderstand Mr. Rose?"

"Quite."

"And were not prejudiced against him in advance? Floor-walkers as a class have often been maligned."

Jean reflected carefully.

"I can't say no to that," she owned frankly. "A friend had a poor opinion of him and said so before I began work, but I tried not to let that influence me."

"But it did?"

"A little, perhaps. I admit I've never liked him."

For a time the big man under the drop-light trifled absently with a paper-knife.

"We'll take this matter up, of course," he said presently. "If we need a housecleaning, we'll have it; but I can't believe that things are radically at fault. No department store in the city is more considerate of its people. We were among the first to close Saturday afternoons in midsummer; we offer liberal inducements for special energy during the holidays; we have provided exceedingly attractive lunch-rooms; we even hope, when trade conditions permit, to introduce a form of profit sharing. What more can we do?"

Jean supposed his rhetorical query personal.

"You might pay better wages," she suggested. "Then things like this wouldn't happen."

For the fraction of a second King Henry wore one of his less amiable expressions. It suggested beheading or long confinement in the Tower. Then, immediately, it was glossed by modernity.

"There you trench upon economic grounds," he rejoined heavily. "I wish we might inaugurate a lecture course for our employees, to elucidate the principles which govern a great business. The law of supply and demand, the press of competition, the necessity for costly advertising, these and countless other considerations, which we at the helm appreciate, never enter the shop-girl's head."

Jean was overborne by these impressive phrases. They had never entered her head, certainly, and she was not altogether sure why they should.

"We only ask a living," she said.

"But you shouldn't. We want the girl who asks pin-money, the girl who lives with her family. Have you no family yourself, by the way?"

"My mother is living."

"Is she dependent upon you in any way?"

"No."

"Is she able to provide for you?"

"Perfectly."

"Then why doesn't she?"

Jean's eyes snapped.

"Because I won't let her."

Her listener shrugged.

"The modern woman!" he lamented. "But this is beside the question. We pay as others pay. If a girl thinks it insufficient, let her find other work. So far, I uphold Mr. Rose. His further advice--as you report it--is another matter. As I have said, we will take it up."

He touched a bell and rose, and Jean followed the elderly servant to the door. The impetus which had brought her here had subsided into great weariness of body and spirit, but she went down the avenue not ill satisfied. She had had her hearing. She had spoken, not for herself alone, but in a measure for others. Moreover, the man's bluff candor seemed an earnest that justice would be done. Precisely what form justice would take, she did not speculate.

Near her own door she met Paul on anxious lookout for her.

"I was beginning to imagine a fine bunch of horrors," he said. "Amy hadn't a ghost of a notion what was up."

"I did not tell Amy I should be late," Jean replied. She offered no explanations, but Paul's concern was grateful after what she had undergone, and she added, "I'm sorry you worried."

He eyed her narrowly, pausing an instant at the steps.

"Any need for a man of my build?" he inquired.

"Why do you ask that?"

"Because I think you're in trouble. If I can help--"

"No, no," she returned hastily. "But thank you."

"Something has happened?"

"Yes; at the store. I can't very well explain it."

"Oh," said Paul, as if explanations were needless. "I'm not so sure I couldn't be useful."

She felt that he divined something of what had transpired, his knowledge of the floor-walker being perhaps fuller than her own, but he said no more. Jean was singularly comforted by his attitude, especially since Amy's, as presently defined, left much to be desired. She seemed less amazed at Rose's behavior than at Jean's active resentment.

"I wouldn't have struck him," she said.

"What would you have done?"

"I--I don't know. At any rate, not that. A girl has to put up with a lot."

"I presume you wouldn't have reported him, either?" Jean flung out bitterly.

"No; I didn't--I mean I wouldn't."

Jean started.

"I think you meant just what you said first, Amy," she cried. "Has he told you the same thing?"

Amy writhed.

"N-no," she began; "that is--"

"Almost, then?"

"Yes."

"And you did nothing?"

"I didn't dare do anything. I don't see how you dared. It's too big a risk."

"I would have risked more in keeping quiet. I simply had to take it higher up."

"But you said Mr. Rose offered to let it drop," Amy timidly reminded. "You could have done that."

"That!" She had no words to voice her scorn.

They went to bed and rose again in an atmosphere of constraint, and Jean walked to her day's work alone. She dreaded meeting Rose, and apprehended another interview with the junior partner, an ordeal which wore a more forbidding aspect by day. But neither happened. The floor-walker did not appear in the toy department at all, though some one had seen him enter the building. It was rumored that he was ill.

Toward the end of the afternoon Jean noticed that she had become an object of some interest to the forewoman, and wondered hopefully if this influential personage had marked her for promotion. Her pay-envelope, for it was Saturday, shortly furnished a clew to the mystery in the shape of a neat slip informing her that her services were no longer required.

"I'm to answer questions if you have any," the forewoman told her, shortly; "but I guess you understand."

The girl turned a chalky face upon her.

"But I don't--"