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L A D I S L A W had conscientious­ ly, industriously, ardently devoted himself to the study of the social sciences. That was in the past. In the same epoch of his life he had followed little sewing girls also with zeal and conscientiousness. B u t that was still true of the present. I n his leisure hours, when unassailed by his Titanic thoughts, he even outlined a plan for a funny little book to be entitled " A Practical Guide for Scoundrels." It was to con­ tain a number of keen observations on sewinggirl psychology and no less telling proof of the writer's dialectic skill. M r. Ladislaw explained his prejudice in favor of sewing girls partly by his great sensibility to the charms of those pretty creatures fading away i n concealment, partly by the humane i m ­ pulse to bring material help to that class of human beings, and finally—according to the strictly scientific method—by atavism. Just a few days before he had met a little thing—simply adorable. She had eyes like two pools, of course, a small nose, not exactly Greek, but inconceivably charming, shell-pink from the cold, a little mouth like the opening bud of a wild rose, a—well—and so on, and so on. M r. Ladislaw introduced himself—at her side—with an adroitness i n such self-introduction that did credit to the author of the "Practical Guide." Then he accompanied Miss Mary—he had clever­ ly elicited that her name was M a r y — t o the door of a high, narrow house in the centre of the city. But on reaching the door they turned back a few steps to flirt a bit. Then they made an appoint­ ment for the following Sunday at the home of the little sewing girl with eyes like two pools. O n the stated Sunday M r. Ladislaw passed through the gate of the narrow house and hunted for the janitor to ask h i m which the girl's home was. H e strayed into the rooms of a monstrously fat, evil woman who explained to him sourly that the janitor lived one flight up. M r. Ladis­ law groped about in the dark for the stairs. H e waded through slippery mud, and tapped the walls to the right and the left, until finally he found the ruins of a staircase. H e felt as if he were climbing up stairs inside of a chimney. A sour smell choked him, a damp cold penetrated to his bones. H e could hear talking in suppressed tones on the other side of a door invisible in the obscurity. A t last he hit upon the knob, opened the door, and found himself in a cell, lighted by a window set high in the wall directly under the ceiling. "Does the janitor live here?" he asked, with his face turned to the small iron stove. " E h ? " growled a voice from a corner. W h e n his eyes had somewhat adjusted them­ selves to the twilight, M r. Ladislaw distinguished a bed in the corner from which the voice came. The bed was made of a pile of rags, and on the rags lay a man who looked like a skeleton. T h e skeleton raised itself with difficulty and showed a bald, yellow head resembling a furrowed old bone. Just a few strands of hair clung to the

By S T E F A N

ZEROMSK]

saw the child standing on the same spot gazing rapturously at the money on her palm. Illustrated by Anton Otto Fischer H e opened the door and entered a large room back of the skull. F o r a few moments he stared filled with tubs and heaps of wet wash. H e was at the intruder. H i s eyes lay deep in their great nearly stifled by the steam and the smell of soap round sockets. Then he lisped in a piping voice : suds. H e asked for Miss M a r y. A n ancient dame, seated at the great stove with her feet " W h a t is i t ? " resting on the cold iron, nodded scornfully to a " A r e you the janitor?" door in the background. M r. Ladislaw bowed "Yes. W e l l ? " with mock courtesy, and walked past her. Curs­ F o r an instant M r. Ladislaw had the feeling ing the whole expedition in his heart he knocked that he ought not to ask here for what he wanted at Miss Mary's door. to know. Nevertheless he inquired : It was opened instantly, and Miss M a r y "Where does Miss M a r y Fisk live?" greeted him with a bewitching laugh. H e grace­ " M a r y who?" fully removed his fur coat, and held out his "Perhaps he means the M a r y who sews in the hand to her. T h e pressure he gave her hand factory, papa," a pleasant child's voice cried emphatically betokened his vivid sensibility to from back of the door. womanly charms. H e was so occupied with "That's whom I mean." Miss Mary's own person that he did not i m ­ "Show the gentleman the way," the sick man mediately notice the two other girls, who, at his breathed, and sank back wearily on his couch of appearance, had arisen from their seats at the rags. window. The little girl ran past M r. Ladislaw and What an unpleasant surprise ! leaped down the stairs four steps at a time. O n Nevertheless he bowed politely to the unknown the ground floor he reached, under her guidance, ladies, seated himself on the one chair in the a sort of shallow cess-pool, in which a great heap room, and while he gave play to his unusual con­ of disgusting rubbish and garbage was piled up. versational talents he made silent observations. Then she pointed to a dark corridor, and said Miss M a r y was by far not so pretty as she looking at him with wide-open, penetrating eyes: had seemed to him at the first meeting. She was "That's the door to the wash room. Back of thin, round-shouldered, and worn by work. H e r the wash room, there, is where M a r y lives." friends looked still more haggard. Young girls though they were, they seemed to have been ground down by some merciless power. That this power was not licentiousness he could tell from the poverty-stricken appearance of the room and from the girls' entire behavior. A l l three of them were shy and embarrassed. Their eyes had a tortured, puzzling expression—an importunate, unpleasant expression, which changed every instant from ecstasy to rage. " Y o u three live here together?" asked M r. Ladislaw with suppressed resentment. " Y e s, " Miss M a r y replied, biting her lower lip. "They are my friends, and we work together in the same white-goods factory." " O h, that must be very pleasant—three Graces—" " N o t always so very pleasant," remarked Catherine. " T h e Graces, I imagine, get lunch every day. N o wonder it's so pleasant for them." "What—do you mean?" " Y o u see," M a r y interposed to explain. " O u r BOSS pays me five dollars a week, and Kate and Hetty, three, and besides gives us our lunch on workdays. Breakfast costs us each ten cents a day, supper twenty-five cents. W e pay eight dol­ lars a month rent for this room. Y o u can count out for yourself that with carfare and something "What an unpleasant surprise!" to wear nothing is left for a Sunday dinner. So we sit here chewing our nails." The girl's little feet were lost in her father's "That is if we don't rope a man in and get him boots, her ragged dress, coated with dirt, scarcely to buy us some ham sandwiches!" cried Kate, reached to her naked red knees. M r. Ladislaw and glanced at M a r y with a venomous smile. hastily fumbled for his purse, thrust a fewM a r y looked at her, an expression of unspeak­ nickels into the child's hand, and walked on. able sadness in her eyes. Then she went over to After taking a few steps he glanced back, and (Continued on page 18) 11