te of time. And because the men pay for a few bum drinks
and dance with a girl, they don't want to give up anything
more. How's she to live, I want to know?"

"Would you like to get out of this, Clara?" interrupted Susan,
coming out of her absent-mindedness.

"Would I! But what's the use of talking?"

"But I mean, would you _really?_"

"Oh--if there was something better. But is there? I don't
see how I'd be as well off, respectable. As I said to the
rescue woman, what is there in it for a 'reclaimed' girl, as
they call it? When they ask a man to reform they can offer
him something--and he can go on up and up. But not for girls.
Nothing doing but charity and pity and the second table and
the back door. I can make more money at this and have a
better time, as long as my looks last. And I've turned down
already a couple of chances to marry--men that wouldn't have
looked at me if I'd been in a store or a factory or living
out. I may marry."

"Don't do that," said Susan. "Marriage makes brutes of men,
and slaves of women."

"You speak as if you knew."

"I do," said Susan, in a tone that forbade question.

"I ain't exactly stuck on the idea myself," pursued Clara.
"And if I don't, why when my looks are gone, where am I worse
off than I'd be at the same age as a working girl? If I have
to get a job then, I can get it--and I'll not be broken down
like the respectable women at thirty--those that work or those
that slop round boozing and neglecting their children while
their husbands work. Of course, there's chances against you
in this business. But so there is in every business. Suppose
I worked in a factory and lost a leg in the machinery, like
that girl of Mantell, the bricklayer's? Suppose I get an
awful disease--to hear some people talk you'd think there
wasn't any chances of death or horrible diseases at
respectable work. Why, how could anybody be worse off than if
they got lung trouble and boils as big as your fist like those
girls over in the tobacco factory?"

"You needn't tell me about work," said Susan. "The streets
are full of wrecks from work--and the hospitals--and the
graveyard over on the Island. You can always go to that
slavery. But I mean a respectable life, with everything better."

"Has one of those swell women from uptown been after you?"

"No. This isn't a pious pipe dream."

"You sound like it. One of them swell silk smarties got at me
when I was in the hospital wi