es. I do look a sight--a
fright. Gee!" She turned. "You're not so worse. A little pale, kid."

She came over and sat next to Rhona.

"What'll I call you?"

Rhona shrank. She was a sensitive, ignorant girl, and did not understand
this type of woman. Something coarse, familiar, vulgar seemed to grate
against her.

"Rhona's my name," she breathed.

"Well, that's cute! Call you Ronie?" She stretched out her arms. "Oh,
slats! I'd give my teeth for a cigarette and a Manhattan cocktail.
Wouldn't I, though!"

Rhona shuddered.

The woman turned toward her.

"My name's Millie. Now we're pals, eh?" Then she rattled on: "First time
in the workhouse? Comes hard at first, doesn't it? Cut off from friends
and fun--and ain't the work beastly? Say, Ronie, what's your job in
little old New York?"

Rhona swallowed a dull sob.

"I haven't any--we're on strike."

Millie jumped up.

"What, you one of them shirtwaist strikers?"

"Yes."

"Why did they run you in?"

"An officer struck me, and then said I struck him."

"Just like a man! Oh, I know men! Depend upon it, I know the men! So,
you were a shirt-waist-maker. How much d'yer earn?"

"Oh, about five or six a week."

"A--_week_!" Millie whistled. "And I suppose ten hours a day, or worse,
and I suppose work that would kill an ox."

"Yes," said Rhona, "hard work."

Millie sat down and put an arm about the shrinking girl.

"Say, kiddie, I like you. I'm going to chuck a little horse sense at
you. Now you listen to me. My sister worked in a pickle-place over in
Pennsy, and she lasted just two years, and then, galloping consumption,
and--" She snapped her fingers, her voice became husky. "Poor fool! Two
years is the limit where she worked. And who paid the rent? I did. But
of course _I_ wasn't respectable--oh no! I was a sinner. Well, let me
tell you something. In my business a woman can last five to ten years.
Do you blame me? And I get clothes, and the eats, and the soft spots,
and I live like a lady.... That's the thing for you! Why do you wear
yourself out--slave-work and strikes and silly business?... You'll never
get married.... The work will make you a hag in another year or two,
and who will want you? And say, you've got to live just once--got to be
just downright woman for a little spell, anyway.... Come with me,
kid ... my kind of life."

Rhona looked at her terrified. She did not understand. What sort of
woman was this? How live in luxury without working?