From her parboiled, shriveled fingers to her
ruddy, perspiring face there was nothing of grace or beauty about
Tillie. And yet Heiny found something pleasing there. He could
not have told you why, so how can I, unless to say that it was,
perhaps, for much the same reason that we rejoice in the wholesome,
safe, reassuring feel of the gray woolen blanket on our bed when we
wake from a horrid dream.
"A Happy New Year to you," said Heiny gravely, and took his
hand out of his pocket.
Tillie's moist right hand closed over something. She smiled
so that one saw all her broken black teeth.
"The same t' you," said Tillie. "The same t' you."
VI
ONE OF THE OLD GIRLS
All of those ladies who end their conversation with you by wearily
suggesting that you go down to the basement to find what you seek,
do not receive a meager seven dollars a week as a reward for their
efforts. Neither are they all obliged to climb five weary flights
of stairs to reach the dismal little court room which is their
home, and there are several who need not walk thirty-three blocks
to save carfare, only to spend wretched evenings washing out
handkerchiefs and stockings in the cracked little washbowl, while
one ear is cocked for the stealthy tread of the Lady Who Objects.
The earnest compiler of working girls' budgets would pass
Effie Bauer hurriedly by.
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