rtcomings 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.

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.

"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?"

"No, sir," said Carrie.

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

"No, sir," she replied.

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

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

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

Carrie began to move quickly to the door.

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

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.

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." She hesitated a moment, then
entered.

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