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嘉莉妹妹|Sister Carrie

Chapter 3 WEE QUESTION OF FORTUNE--FOUR-FIFTY A WEEK

属类： 双语小说 【分类】世界名著 -[作者: 西奥多-德莱塞] 阅读：[11349]
Chapter 3 WEE QUESTION OF FORTUNE--FOUR-FIFTY A WEEK
《 字+字- 行+行- 页+页- 字+字- 行+行- 页+页- 》
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一过了河，进入商业区，她就开始东张西望，不知该到哪个商号去找工作把握大些。当她这么打量着那些宽宽的玻璃窗和气派的招牌时，她意识到有人在看她，也意识到人家知道她是干什么的——一个求职者。她以前从未找过工作，所以胆子很校被人看穿她在找活干，让她感到一阵无以名状的羞愧，因此她赶紧加快步子，装出一副有事在身的那种人常有的漫不经心的神气。就这样她走过了好些工厂和批发商号，一眼也没有往里看。最后，走过几条马路以后，她想这样不行，于是她又开始东张西望，不过这一次她没有放慢脚步。走了不远，她看见一个店门，不知为什么这个店吸引了她的注意力。大门口有一块小铜招牌，看来这里是一幢六七层楼大厦的入口。

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“也许，”她心里猜测着，“也许他们需要人手。”她这么想着就过了马路，打算进去。走到离大门口还有近两丈的光景，透过窗子她看见一个穿灰格子西装的年轻人。她并不知道这个人与那家商号是否有关系，但是这人正巧朝她的方向看，她被一种羞愧压倒了，立刻心虚地打退堂鼓，急急忙忙走开了。马路对面有一座高大的六层楼建筑，招牌上写的是“风雷皇家公司”。她打量着这家公司，希望又复苏了。这是一家绸缎批发公司，因此雇佣女店员。她可以看见女工们在楼上不时走动。

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无论如何，她决定进这家公司去碰碰运气。她穿过马路，径直向大门走去。但是就在这时，有两个男人走了出来，在门口停了下来。一个穿蓝制服的信差来送电报，跑过她身旁，冲上那几级台阶，就消失在门里。人行道上熙熙攘攘的人流里有好几个人走过她身旁，于是嘉莉又迟疑地停住了脚步。她孤立无援地朝周围看看。看到有人在打量她，她又退却了。这事情太让人为难了，她无法当着这些人的面走进去。

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这么严重的失败使她非常垂头丧气。她的脚带着她机械地往前移动，每前进一步都因为逃离远了一点，心里轻松一点。就这样她走过一个街区又一个街区。每走到一个十字路口，她就在街灯路牌上看看街名：麦迪生大街，门罗大街，拉沙勒大街，克拉克大街，地邦大街，斯台特大街但是她继续往前走，她的脚走在宽阔的石板路上开始酸了。街道明亮干净，这使她有几分欣喜。上午的阳光投射在路上，热度在持续上升，这使马路背阴的那面更让人感到凉爽宜人。她看看头上的蓝天，感到蓝天从来没有像今天这样明媚可爱。

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对自己的怯场，她现在感到有些懊恼了。她转过身往回走，决心回到风雷皇家公司去试试。路上她走过一家很大的鞋子批发公司。透过大玻璃窗，她看见里面有一个用毛玻璃隔开的经理室。就在玻璃隔板的外面，靠街面的大门旁边，有一个头发灰白的先生坐在一张小桌子旁，面前摊着一本大账本。她在这个公司门前徘徊犹豫了好一会儿，但是发现没有人注意到她，她就迟迟疑疑地走进了纱门，自感低卑地站在那里等候。

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“喂，小姐，”那位老先生开口问她，目光相当温和，“你有什么事吗？”“我我是，你们——我的意思是，你们这里要帮手吗？”她结结巴巴地问道。

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“目前不要，”他微笑着回答。“下周什么时候你可以来看看。有的时候我们要雇些人的。”她默默地听了这个答复，又狼狈地退了出去。这样和气的接待使她大感意外。她原来以为事情要困难得多，她以为人家会对她说些冷酷粗暴的话——她也不知道会说些什么。可现在她并没有遭到羞辱，并没有人让她感到自己处境不幸，这一点给她印象深刻。

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这经历使她得到些鼓舞，于是她试探着走进另一家大公司。这是家服装公司。她看见更多的人，这些人衣冠楚楚，四十开外，坐在用铜栏杆围起来的办公桌旁。

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一个仆役向她走来。

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“你想见谁？”他问道。

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“我想见你们的经理。”她回答。

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他跑过去，对三个正聚在一起商量事情的人说了些什么，其中有一个就朝她走来。

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“什么事？”他冷冷地问。这种招呼立刻使她丧失了勇气。

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“你们要帮手吗？”她结结巴巴地问。

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“不要，”他粗鲁地一口回绝，转身走了。

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她尴尬地走了出去，仆役恭敬地给她打开门。她混入人群中，心里感到好受了一些。这次打击使她刚才还兴冲冲的情绪受到严重挫伤。

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她在街上漫无目的地走了一会儿，左看右瞧，看见一个大公司接着一个大公司，就是没有勇气进去提出那个简单的问题。已到中午了，她的肚子也饿了。她找到一个不起眼的小饭店，就走了进去。但是她不安地发现那里的价钱高得吓人，不是她的钱包可以付得起的。她只买得起一碗汤。很快地喝完以后，她就走了出来。她的力气略微有所恢复，所以她继续找工作的胆子也大了一点。

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她走过几条马路，一路上想找个合适的公司试试。就在这时，她来到了风雷皇家公司的门口。这次她鼓起勇气走了进去。有几位先生就在旁边商量着什么，但是没人注意到她。她一个人站在那里，眼睛局促不安地朝下垂着。就在她窘迫得难以忍受时，旁边的栏杆圈里，坐在办公桌旁的先生中有一位向她打了个招呼。

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“你想找哪位？”他问道。

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“嗯，随便哪一位。是这样的，”她回答，“我想找个活干。”“那么，你该见见麦克曼纳斯先生，”他回答。“你坐下吧。”他指指旁边靠墙的一把椅子，又继续慢悠悠地写起来。过了一会儿，一个矮矮胖胖的先生从街上走了进来。

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“麦克曼纳斯先生，”写字台边的那位先生喊道，“这位小姐要见你。”那矮个子绅士朝嘉莉转过身来。她就站起来迎上前去。

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“小姐，找我有什么事吗？”他问道，好奇地打量着她。

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“我想问问这里能不能给我一点事做，”她说。

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“什么样的事呢？”他问。

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“随便什么事都行，”她吞吞吐吐地说。

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“你在绸缎批发行业干过吗？”他追问。

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“没有，先生，”她回答。

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“你会速记或者打字吗？”

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“不会，先生。”

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“你以前在哪里干过吗？”他问道。

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“没有，先生。”她说。

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“那么，你想在这一类批发行找到事情做，几乎是不可能的。你到百货公司试过吗？”她承认还没去过。

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“嗯，如果我是你的话，”他温和地看着她说，“我会到百货公司试试。他们经常雇些年轻姑娘做店员。”“谢谢你，”她说。这一点友好的关切使她心里好受了许多。

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“没错，”当她朝门口走时，他又说，“你一定要去百货公司试试，”说着他就走开了。

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当时百货公司刚刚兴起，为数不多。美国最早的三家百货公司都在芝加哥，是大约1884年创办的。嘉莉从《每日新闻》的广告得知了这几家百货公司的名字，现在她就出发去找它们。麦克曼纳斯先生的话多少使她恢复了业已低落的勇气，她开始萌生了一线希望，也许这条新路子会给她带来点什么。她在街上瞎转悠了一会儿，幻想着能碰巧找到那些百货公司。这种想法是人们在面临那些大感为难却又非做不可的事情时的一般心态。做出一副找工作的样子而实际上并没有真的在找，可以自欺欺人，让人心安理得一些。不过最终她还是向一个警察问了路。警察告诉她，过去两条马路就是‘大商常’百货公司是些庞大的百货零售系统，即使它们有朝一日永久地消失了，也将在我国的商业史上留下有趣的一页。在此之前，世界上从来没见过像零售这样不起眼的行业竟会发展成如此大规模的大买卖。这些店依据最有效的零售组织的原则组建，一个店综合了几百家铺子的买卖。商场的设计和布局既富丽堂皇又经济实用。这些百货商场气派热闹，生意兴隆，雇佣了大批店员，顾客络绎不绝。嘉莉走在热闹的货架之间，被陈列的各种漂亮的首饰、衣服、文具和珠宝吸引住了。各个柜台展出的东西都光彩夺目，令人眼花缭乱，留连难舍，她不由感到每件饰物和珠宝都在向她招手，但是她没有停住脚步。

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这里没有一样商品是她用不上的，没有一件东西是她不想拥有的：那些精美的舞鞋和长统袜，饰有漂亮绉边的裙子和衬裙，还有花边、缎带、梳子、钱包，这一切的一切都激起了她的种种欲望，但她痛苦地认识到这里没有一样东西是她买得起的。她是个求职者，一个无业游民，店员们差不多一眼就可看出她，一文不名，急需就业。

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你不要以为，有人会把她错当成一个神经过敏、多愁善感、容易激动的人，不幸被抛入了一个冷漠无情精于算计缺乏诗意的社会。她肯定不是这种人。不过妇女对于服饰一类的东西特别在意罢了。

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嘉莉不仅对于一切新颖漂亮的妇女服装羡慕不已，而且伤心地注意到那些穿着华丽的夫人小姐们擦身而过，对她视而不见，好像她根本不存在似的。她们推推搡搡，急于去看商场里吸引了她们目光的各种商品。嘉莉不熟悉城市妇女中那些幸运儿们的穿着打扮，她也不知道女店员们的模样和气质。

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现在和她们相比，她觉得自己被比下去了。她们大多数长得不错，有些甚至算得上漂亮，带着一种独立不羁，满不在乎的神气，这给其中的那些幸运儿们平添了几分魅力。她们衣着整齐，许多人服装华丽。每当她和哪个女店员目光相接，她可以看出对方在用尖刻的目光打量她的境遇--她衣着上的缺点和她举止上的那一点儿土气--她认为这点儿土气在她全身都透露出来，人家一眼就能看穿她是个什么人，到此干什么来的，她不由得妒火直冒。她隐隐约约地认识到了城里所拥有的东西--财富、时髦、安逸--妇女企盼的各种各样服饰，于是她一心渴望起那些衣服和所有美丽的玩意来。

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经理办公室在二楼。经人指点，她朝那里走去。在经理室，已有别的女孩比她先来了。她们也是找工作的，但是身上有一股自信和独立的神气，这是因为她们已有城市生活的经验。这些女孩子仔细地打量她，令她浑身不自在。等了大约有3刻钟，轮到她进去了。

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“说吧，你在别的店里干过吗？”一个干脆利索的犹太人问道。他坐在靠窗的翻盖写字桌旁边。

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“没有，先生，”嘉莉回答。

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“噢，你没有，”他说着用锐利的目光打量着她。

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“没有，先生，”她答道。

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“是这样，我们现在需要的是有经验的年轻姑娘。我想我们不能用你。”嘉莉站在那里等了一会儿，不知道这会见是否算结束了。

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“别磨蹭了！”他吼道，“我们这里很忙。”嘉莉慌忙朝门口走。

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“等一下，”他又把她叫了回来，“把你的名字和地址留下。”

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我们有时也用女孩的。”

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等她终于安然地来到外面大街上，她几乎克制不住眼泪往下掉。这倒不单单因为她刚刚受到这番断然回绝，而是因为这一整天奔波的结果太令人失望了。她又累又乏，心里忐忑不安。她不打算到别的百货公司去求职了，现在只是在街上漫无目的地走着，混在街上的人群中，心里感到一阵安全和轻松。

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就在她心不在焉的闲逛中，她转弯拐进了离河不远的杰克生大街。她沿着这条庄严漂亮的大街南侧往前走着，这时一张钉在门上的招贴引起了她的注意。那是张用包装纸写的启示，上面用不褪色墨水写道：“招聘女工——包装工和缝纫工。”她犹豫了一下走了进去。

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这家斯贝杰海姆公司是专门制造男孩帽子的，占据了这幢建筑物的一个楼面，五十英尺宽，八十英尺长。这地方光线很暗，最暗的地方亮着电灯。到处都是机器和工作台。工作台旁许多姑娘和一些男工正在干活。那些姑娘看上去邋邋遢遢，脸上沾着机油和灰尘，穿着单薄难看的布衣，脚上的鞋子不同程度地磨损了。许多人挽着袖子，露出胳膊；有的人嫌热，衣服领口大敞着。她们属于接近最下层的女工阶层--满不在乎，不修边幅，因为整天关在车间里脸色有点苍白。她们可不是腼腆胆小之辈。这是些胆大好奇，说话粗野的泼辣女子。

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嘉莉朝四周打量了一下，感到心烦意乱，不喜欢到这种地方来工作。有人在用眼角打量她，让她感到不自在，但是没有人搭理她。她就这么等着，直到全车间的人都注意到她。于是有人给工头传话，那个工头就朝她走来。这人穿着衬衫，系着围腰，袖子一直卷到肩上。

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“你是找我吗？”他问。

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“你们需要人手吗？”嘉莉已学会了直截了当。

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“你知道怎么缝帽子吗？”他反问道。

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“不会，先生，”她回答。

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“你对这类工作有点经验吗？”他询问道。

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她回答说“没有。”

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“每星期的工钱是多少？”嘉莉试探着问。那人的态度温和，说话其实，使她胆子大了起来。

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“3块半，”他回答。

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“噢，”她听了简直要惊叫起来，不过她忍住了，没有把自己的想法流露出来。

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“我们并不非常需要人，”他含含糊糊地继续说，就像打量一个包裹一样，把她上下打量了一番。“不过你星期一可以来上班。”他补充说，“我会给你安排活的。”“谢谢，”嘉莉无精打采地说。

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“来的话，带一条围腰。”他又加了一句。

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他走开了，撇下她一个人站在电梯旁，甚至连她的名字也没有问一下。

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尽管这车间的外表和每周的薪水对嘉莉的期望不啻是当头一棒，但是在转了一大圈找工作却处处碰壁以后，能找到一份工作总是令人欣慰的。不过，她并不打算做这份工。尽管她的期望很低，她可过不惯这种日子。她以往的日子比这要强得多。她从没做过女工，乡村自由自在的户外生活使她对车间的闭塞和局限不禁反感。她还从来没有在肮脏的环境里生活过。

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她姐姐家的房子也是干干净净的。可这地方低矮肮脏，女工们一个个吊儿郎当，一副老油子的样子。她猜想他们一定思想人品都很坏。不过总算有人向她提供了一份工作。既然她在第一天就能找到一份活，芝加哥看来还是不错的。她也许还可以在别的地方找到一份好一些的工作。

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可是她接下来的经历可不令人乐观。在所有那些环境较好较为体面的企业，人家都用冷冰冰的客气话把她打发走了。

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在另外一些她去求职的地方，人家只雇熟练工人。她到处遭到回绝，让她痛苦不已。最尴尬的一次是在一家服装厂。她来到四楼这家厂去求职。

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“不要，不要，”工头回答。那是个粗暴肥胖的家伙，管着一个光线昏暗的车间。“我们谁也不要，走开！”她的希望、勇气和力气随着下午的逝去也在渐渐消失。她这天一直表现出惊人的毅力和顽强，像她这么努力找工作，照理该有个更好的结果。可每次碰壁以后，在她精疲力尽之余，这个大商业区显得越发的高不可攀，冷漠无情了。看起来她已被摒弃在外，无门可入了。这样的苦苦挣扎实在太艰难，她看来一筹莫展了。熙熙攘攘的人流，有男有女，从她身边匆匆走过。她感到这不断的人流，像生活的滚滚波涛，在奋斗在逐利。

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她尽管并没完全意识到自己像浮在生活大潮上的一棵小草，却充分体会到自己的孤苦无依，无可奈何。她徒劳地四处求职，但却找不到一个她敢迈进去的大门。每次情况总是老样子：她低三下四地请求，人家三言两语把她打发走。她感到身心交瘁，便转身朝西，向敏妮家的方向走。她姐姐家的地址她是熟记在心的。她现在这模样，就和别的求职未得，傍晚回家的失意人一样，步履沉重，无精打采。在经过第五大街，向南朝凡布伦街走，去搭电车时，她走过一家大的鞋子批发行的大门，透过厚板玻璃窗，她看见一位中年绅士坐在一张小写字桌的旁边。在一连串的失意以后，一阵绝望的冲动突然攫住了她。这是人在连受挫折，思想一片混乱时萌生的最后一个念头。她坚决地走进大门，一直走到那个先生面前。那人看着她疲惫的脸，不禁产生了几分兴趣。

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“你有什么事？”他问。

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“你能给我一份活干吗？”嘉莉说。

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“我不太清楚，”他和气地说，“你想要找什么样的事做？你不是打字员吧？”“不是，”嘉莉说。

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“是这样，我们这里只雇佣会计师和打字员。你可以绕到侧门到楼上问问。楼上前两天还需要人手的。你去找布朗先生。”她急忙绕到侧门，乘电梯到了四楼。

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“去叫一下布朗先生，威利。”开电梯的工人对旁边一个小伙子说。

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威利去了一会儿回来，告诉她布朗先生要她坐会儿，他马上就到。

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这地方是货房的一部分，看不出是哪一行的。嘉莉想不出他们做些什么买卖。

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“这么说你想找个工作。”布朗先生在询问了她的来意以后说，“你以前在鞋厂干过吗？”“没有，先生，”嘉莉说。

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“你叫什么名字？”他问道。嘉莉告诉他以后，他又说，“唔，我也不知道我有什么活给你。一周4块半工钱你肯做吗？”嘉莉屡经挫折早已灰心丧气。听了这话不能不感到极大的宽慰。虽然她没想到他出的工钱会低于6块钱，她还是默许了。他就记下她的名字和地址。

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“好吧，”他最后说，“你星期一早上8点到这里报到。我想我还是能给你安排点活做的。”他走开时，她相信自己总算找到了一份差事，于是各种希望又在心里复苏了。热血立刻悄悄地流遍全身，使她的紧张心情松弛下来。她走到外面热闹的街上，感到街上的气氛与刚才大不一样。瞧，行人们一个个步履轻快。她还注意到男男女女都在微笑，断断续续的话语声笑声飘进她的耳朵。周围的气氛是轻快的。人们已结束了一天的工作，从那些大楼里拥出来。

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她看得出他们心情愉快。想到姐姐家，想到等着她的晚餐，她不由加快了脚步。她急急忙忙地走着，虽然疲倦，脚步却不再沉甸甸的了。敏妮知道了，一定会兴奋得滔滔不绝。啊，长长的一整个冬天都留在乏加哥——灯光，人群，种种娱乐！这毕竟是个令人振奋的大都市。雇佣她的那家公司看上去漂亮气派，窗子都是用巨大的厚板玻璃做的。她很有希望在那里干出些名堂。于是她又想到了杜洛埃，想到杜洛埃告诉她的那些东西，感到生活变得美好，轻松，活泼。她兴高采烈地登上电车，感到血液在全身欢快地流动。她心里不断在对自己说，她将住在芝加哥，她将过一种比以往更好的生活——她将会幸福。

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Once across the river and into the wholesale district, she glanced about her for some likely door at which to apply. As she contemplated the wide windows and imposing signs, she became conscious of being gazed upon and understood for what she was-a wage-seeker. She had never done this thing before, and lacked courage. To avoid a certain indefinable shame she felt at being caught spying about for a position, she quickened her steps and assumed an air of indifference supposedly common to one upon an errand. In this way she passed many manufacturing and wholesale houses without once glancing in. At last, after several blocks of walking, she felt that this would not do, and began to look about again, though without relaxing her pace. A little way on she saw a great door which, for some reason, attracted her attention. It was ornamented by a small brass sign, and seemed to be the entrance to a vast hive of six or seven floors. "Perhaps," she thought, "they may want some one," and crossed over to enter. When she came within a score of feet of the desired goal, she saw through the window a young man in a grey checked suit. That he had anything to do with the concern, she could not tell, but because he happened to be looking in her direction her weakening heart misgave her and she hurried by, too overcome with shame to enter. Over the way stood a great six-story structure, labelled Storm and King, which she viewed with rising hope. It was a wholesale dry goods concern and employed women. She could see them moving about now and then upon the upper floors. This place she decided to enter, no matter what. She crossed over and walked directly toward the entrance. As she did so, two men came out and paused in the door. A telegraph messenger in blue dashed past her and up the few steps that led to the entrance and disappeared. Several pedestrians out of the hurrying throng which filled the sidewalks passed about her as she paused, hesitating. She looked helplessly around, and then, seeing herself observed, retreated. It was too difficult a task. She could not go past them.

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So severe a defeat told sadly upon her nerves. Her feet carried her mechanically forward, every foot of her progress being a satisfactory portion of a flight which she gladly made. Block after block passed by. Upon streetlamps at the various corners she read names such as Madison, Monroe, La Salle, Clark, Dearborn, State, and still she went, her feet beginning to tire upon the broad stone flagging. She was pleased in part that the streets were bright and clean. The morning sun, shining down with steadily increasing warmth, made the shady side of the streets pleasantly cool. She looked at the blue sky overhead with more realisation of its charm than had ever come to her before.

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Her cowardice began to trouble her in a way. She turned back, resolving to hunt up Storm and King and enter. On the way, she encountered a great wholesale shoe company, through the broad plate windows of which she saw an enclosed executive department, hidden by frosted glass. Without this enclosure, but just within the street entrance, sat a grey-haired gentleman at a small table, with a large open ledger before him. She walked by this institution several times hesitating, but, finding herself unobserved, faltered past the screen door and stood humble waiting.

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"Well, young lady," observed the old gentleman, looking at her somewhat kindly, "what is it you wish?"

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"I am, that is, do you--I mean, do you need any help?" she stammered.

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"Not just at present," he answered smiling. "Not just at present. Come in some time next week. Occasionally we need some one."

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She received the answer in silence and backed awkwardly out. The pleasant nature of her reception rather astonished her. She had expected that it would be more difficult, that something cold and harsh would be said--she knew not what. That she had not been put to shame and made to feel her unfortunate position, seemed remarkable.

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Somewhat encouraged, she ventured into another large structure. It was a clothing company, and more people were in evidence--well-dressed men of forty and more, surrounded by brass railings.

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An office boy approached her.

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"Who is it you wish to see?" he asked.

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"I want to see the manager," she said. He ran away and spoke to one of a group of three men who were conferring together. One of these came towards her.

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"Well?" he said coldly. The greeting drove all courage from her at once.

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"Do you need any help?" she stammered.

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"No," he replied abruptly, and turned upon his heel.

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She went foolishly out, the office boy deferentially swinging the door for her, and gladly sank into the obscuring crowd. It was a severe setback to her recently pleased mental state.

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Now she walked quite aimlessly for a time, turning here and there, seeing one great company after another, but finding no courage to prosecute her single inquiry. High noon came, and with it hunger. She hunted out an unassuming restaurant and entered, but was disturbed to find that the prices were exorbitant for the size of her purse. A bowl of soup was all that she could afford, and, with this quickly eaten, she went out again. It restored her strength somewhat and made her moderately bold to pursue the search.

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In walking a few blocks to fix upon some probable place, she again encountered the firm of Storm and King, and this time managed to get in. Some gentlemen were conferring close at hand, but took no notice of her. She was left standing, gazing nervously upon the floor. When the limit of her distress had been nearly reached, she was beckoned to by a man at one of the many desks within the near-by railing.

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"Who is it you wish to see?" he required.

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"Why, any one, if you please," she answered. "I am looking for something to do."

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"Oh, you want to see Mr. McManus," he returned. "Sit down," and he pointed to a chair against the neighbouring wall. He went on leisurely writing, until after a time a short, stout gentleman came in from the street.

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"Mr. McManus," called the man at the desk, "this young woman wants to see you."

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The short gentleman turned about towards Carrie, and she arose and came forward.

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"What can I do for you, miss?" he inquired, surveying her curiously.

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"I want to know if I can get a position," she inquired.

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"As what?" he asked.

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"Not as anything in particular," she faltered.

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"Have you ever had any experience in the wholesale dry goods business?" he questioned.

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"No, sir," she replied.

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"Are you a stenographer or typewriter?"

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"No, sir."

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"Well, we haven’t anything here," he said. "We employ only experienced help."

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She began to step backward toward the door, when something about her plaintive face attracted him.

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"Have you ever worked at anything before?" he inquired.

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"No, sir," she said.

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"Well, now, it’s hardly possible that you would get anything to do in a wholesale house of this kind. Have you tried the department stores?"

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She acknowledged that she had not.

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"Well, if I were you," he said, looking at her rather genially, "I would try the department stores. They often need young women as clerks."

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"Thank you," she said, her whole nature relieved by this spark of friendly interest.

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"Yes," he said, as she moved toward the door, "you try the department stores," and off he went.

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At that time the department store was in its earliest form of successful operation, and there were not many. The first three in the United States, established about 1884, were in Chicago. Carrie was familiar with the names of several through the advertisements in the "Daily News," and now proceeded to seek them. The words of Mr. McManus had somehow managed to restore her courage, which had fallen low, and she dared to hope that this new line would offer her something. Some time she spent in wandering up and down, thinking to encounter the buildings by chance, so readily is the mind, bent upon prosecuting a hard but needful errand, eased by that self-deception which the semblance of search, without the reality, gives. At last she inquired of a police officer, and was directed to proceed "two blocks up," where she would find "The Fair."

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The nature of these vast retail combinations, should they ever permanently disappear, will form an interesting chapter in the commercial history of our nation. Such a flowering out of a modest trade principle the world had never witnessed up to that time. They were along the line of the most effective retail organisation, with hundreds of stores coordinated into one and laid out upon the most imposing and economic basis. They were handsome, bustling, successful affairs, with a host of clerks and a swarm of patrons. Carrie passed along the busy aisles, much affected by the remarkable displays of trinkets, dress goods, stationery, and jewelry. Each separate counter was a show place of dazzling interest and attraction. She could not help feeling the claim of each trinket and valuable upon her personally, and yet she did not stop. There was nothing there which she could not have used--nothing which she did not long to own. The dainty slippers and stockings, the delicately frilled skirts and petticoats, the laces, ribbons, hair-combs, purses, all touched her with individual desire, and she felt keenly the fact that not any of these things were in the range of her purchase. She was a work-seeker, an outcast without employment, one whom the average employee could tell at a glance was poor and in need of a situation.

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It must not be thought that any one could have mistaken her for a nervous, sensitive, high-strung nature, cast unduly upon a cold, calculating, and unpoetic world. Such certainly she was not. But women are peculiarly sensitive to their adornment.

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Not only did Carrie feel the drag of desire for all which was new and pleasing in apparel for women, but she noticed too, with a touch at the heart, the fine ladies who elbowed and ignored her, brushing past in utter disregard of her presence, themselves eagerly enlisted in the materials which the store contained. Carrie was not familiar with the appearance of her more fortunate sisters of the city. Neither had she before known the nature and appearance of the shop girls with whom she now compared poorly. They were pretty in the main, some even handsome, with an air of independence and indifference which added, in the case of the more favoured, a certain piquancy. Their clothes were neat, in many instances fine, and wherever she encountered the eye of one it was only to recognise in it a keen analysis of her own position--her individual shortcomings of dress and that shadow of manner which she thought must hang about her and make clear to all who and what she was. A flame of envy lighted in her heart. She realised in a dim way how much the city held--wealth, fashion, ease--every adornment for women, and she longed for dress and beauty with a whole heart.

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On the second floor were the managerial offices, to which, after some inquiry, she was now directed. There she found other girls ahead of her, applicants like herself, but with more of that self-satisfied and independent air which experience of the city lends; girls who scrutinised her in a painful manner. After a wait of perhaps three-quarters of an hour, she was called in turn.

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"Now," said a sharp, quick-mannered Jew, who was sitting at a roll-top desk near the window, "have you ever worked in any other store?"

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"No, sir," said Carrie.

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"Oh, you haven’t," he said, eyeing her keenly.

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"No, sir," she replied.

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"Well, we prefer young women just now with some experience. I guess we can’t use you."

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Carrie stood waiting a moment, hardly certain whether the interview had terminated.

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"Don’t wait!" he exclaimed. "Remember we are very busy here."

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Carrie began to move quickly to the door.

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"Hold on," he said, calling her back. "Give me your name and address. We want girls occasionally."

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When she had gotten safely into the street, she could scarcely restrain the tears. It was not so much the particular rebuff which she had just experienced, but the whole abashing trend of the day. She was tired and nervous. She abandoned the thought of appealing to the other department stores and now wandered on, feeling a certain safety and relief in mingling with the crowd.

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In her indifferent wandering she turned into Jackson Street, not far from the river, and was keeping her way along the south side of that imposing thoroughfare, when a piece of wrapping paper, written on with marking ink and tacked up on the door, attracted her attention. It read, "Girls wanted--wrappers & stitchers."

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She hesitated a moment, then entered.

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The firm of Speigelheim & Co., makers of boys’ caps, occupied one floor of the building, fifty feet in width and some eighty feet in depth. It was a place rather dingily lighted, the darkest portions having incandescent lights, filled with machines and work benches. At the latter laboured quite a company of girls and some men. The former were drabby-looking creatures, stained in face with oil and dust, clad in thin, shapeless, cotton dresses and shod with more or less worn shoes. Many of them had their sleeves rolled up, revealing bare arms, and in some cases, owing to the heat, their dresses were open at the neck. They were a fair type of nearly the lowest order of shop-girls-- careless, slouchy, and more or less pale from confinement. They were not timid, however; were rich in curiosity, and strong in daring and slang.

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Carrie looked about her, very much disturbed and quite sure that she did not want to work here. Aside from making her uncomfortable by sidelong glances, no one paid her the least attention. She waited until the whole department was aware of her presence. Then some word was sent around, and a foreman, in an apron and shirt sleeves, the latter rolled up to his shoulders, approached.

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"Do you want to see me?" he asked.

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"Do you need any help?" said Carrie, already learning directness of address.

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"Do you know how to stitch caps?" he returned.

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"No, sir," she replied.

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"Have you ever had any experience at this kind of work?" he inquired.

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She answered that she had not.

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"Well," said the foreman, scratching his ear meditatively, "we do need a stitcher. We like experienced help, though. We’ve hardly got time to break people in." He paused and looked away out of the window. "We might, though, put you at finishing," he concluded reflectively.

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"How much do you pay a week?" ventured Carrie, emboldened by a certain softness in the man’s manner and his simplicity of address.

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"Three and a half," he answered.

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"Oh," she was about to exclaim, but checked herself and allowed her thoughts to die without expression.

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"We’re not exactly in need of anybody," he went on vaguely, looking her over as one would a package. "You can come on Monday morning, though," he added, "and I’ll put you to work."

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"Thank you," said Carrie weakly.

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"If you come, bring an apron," he added.

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He walked away and left her standing by the elevator, never so much as inquiring her name.

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While the appearance of the shop and the announcement of the price paid per week operated very much as a blow to Carrie’s fancy, the fact that work of any kind was offered after so rude a round of experience was gratifying. She could not begin to believe that she would take the place, modest as her aspirations were. She had been used to better than that. Her mere experience and the free out-of-door life of the country caused her nature to revolt at such confinement. Dirt had never been her share. Her sister’s flat was clean. This place was grimy and low, the girls were careless and hardened. They must be bad-minded and hearted, she imagined. Still, a place had been offered her. Surely Chicago was not so bad if she could find one place in one day. She might find another and better later.

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Her subsequent experiences were not of a reassuring nature, however. From all the more pleasing or imposing places she was turned away abruptly with the most chilling formality. In others where she applied only the experienced were required. She met with painful rebuffs, the most trying of which had been in a manufacturing cloak house, where she had gone to the fourth floor to inquire.

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"No, no," said the foreman, a rough, heavily built individual, who looked after a miserably lighted workshop, "we don’t want any one. Don’t come here."

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With the wane of the afternoon went her hopes, her courage, and her strength. She had been astonishingly persistent. So earnest an effort was well deserving of a better reward. On every hand, to her fatigued senses, the great business portion grew larger, harder, more stolid in its indifference. It seemed as if it was all closed to her, that the struggle was too fierce for her to hope to do anything at all. Men and women hurried by in long, shifting lines. She felt the flow of the tide of effort and interest--felt her own helplessness without quite realising the wisp on the tide that she was. She cast about vainly for some possible place to apply, but found no door which she had the courage to enter. It would be the same thing all over. The old humiliation of her plea, rewarded by curt denial. Sick at heart and in body, she turned to the west, the direction of Minnie’s flat, which she had now fixed in mind, and began that wearisome, baffled retreat which the seeker for employment at nightfall too often makes. In passing through Fifth Avenue, south towards Van Buren Street, where she intended to take a car, she passed the door of a large wholesale shoe house, through the plate-glass windows of which she could see a middle-aged gentleman sitting at a small desk. One of those forlorn impulses which often grow out of a fixed sense of defeat, the last sprouting of a baffled and uprooted growth of ideas, seized upon her. She walked deliberately through the door and up to the gentleman, who looked at her weary face with partially awakened interest.

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"What is it?" he said.

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"Can you give me something to do?" said Carrie.

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"Now, I really don’t know," he said kindly. "What kind of work is it you want--you’re not a typewriter, are you?"

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"Oh, no," answered Carrie.

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"Well, we only employ book-keepers and typewriters here. You might go around to the side and inquire upstairs. They did want some help upstairs a few days ago. Ask for Mr. Brown."

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She hastened around to the side entrance and was taken up by the elevator to the fourth floor.

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"Call Mr. Brown, Willie," said the elevator man to a boy near by.

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Willie went off and presently returned with the information that Mr. Brown said she should sit down and that he would be around in a little while.

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It was a portion of the stock room which gave no idea of the general character of the place, and Carrie could form no opinion of the nature of the work.

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"So you want something to do," said Mr. Brown, after he inquired concerning the nature of her errand. "Have you ever been employed in a shoe factory before?"

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"No, sir," said Carrie.

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"What is your name?" he inquired, and being informed, "Well, I don’t know as I have anything for you. Would you work for four and a half a week?"

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Carrie was too worn by defeat not to feel that it was considerable. She had not expected that he would offer her less than six. She acquiesced, however, and he took her name and address.

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"Well," he said, finally, "you report here at eight o’clock Monday morning. I think I can find something for you to do."

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He left her revived by the possibilities, sure that she had found something at last. Instantly the blood crept warmly over her body. Her nervous tension relaxed. She walked out into the busy street and discovered a new atmosphere. Behold, the throng was moving with a lightsome step. She noticed that men and women were smiling. Scraps of conversation and notes of laughter floated to her. The air was light. People were already pouring out of the buildings, their labour ended for the day. She noticed that they were pleased, and thoughts of her sister’s home and the meal that would be awaiting her quickened her steps. She hurried on, tired perhaps, but no longer weary of foot. What would not Minnie say! Ah, the long winter in Chicago-the lights, the crowd, the amusement! This was a great, pleasing metropolis after all. Her new firm was a goodly institution.

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Its windows were of huge plate glass. She could probably do well there. Thoughts of Drouet returned--of the things he had told her. She now felt that life was better, that it was livelier, sprightlier. She boarded a car in the best of spirits, feeling her blood still flowing pleasantly. She would live in Chicago, her mind kept saying to itself. She would have a better time than she had ever had before--she would be happy.

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