oudoir cap engaged me in conversation this
morning. Lillian is around the Indian summer of life--as to years, but
not atmosphere. Lillian has seen better days. Makes sure you know it.
Never did a lick of work in her life. At that she makes a noise with
her upper lip the way a body does in southern Oregon when he uses a
toothpick after a large meal. "No, sir, never did a lick." Lillian
says "did" and not "done." Practically no encouragement is needed for
Lillian to continue. "After my husband died I blew in all the money he
left me in two years. Since then I have been packing chocolates." How
long ago was that?

"Five years."

"My Gawd," I say, and it comes natural-like. "What did you do with
your feet for five years?"

"Oh, you get used to it," says Lillian. "For months I cried every
night. Don't any more. But I lie down while I'm warmin' up my supper,
and then I go to bed soon as its et."

Five years!

"Goin' to vote?" asks Lillian.

"Sure."

"I'm not," allows Lillian. "To my notions all that votin' business is
nothing for a lady to get mixed up in. No, sir." Lillian makes that
noise with her upper lip again. Lillian's lips are very red, her
eyebrows very black. I'll not do anything, though, with my eyebrows.
Says Lillian: "No, siree, not for a lady. I got a good bet up on the
election. Yes, sir!--fifty dollars on Harding."

And five years of going to bed every night after supper.

Tessie is back. I do love Tessie, and I know Tessie loves me. She had
not gone hunting for another job, as I thought. Her husband had had
his elbow broken with an electric machine of some sort where he works
on milk cans. The morning before she had taken him to the hospital.
That made her ten minutes late to the factory. The little pop-eyed man
told her, "You go on home!" and off she went. "But he tell me that
once more I no come back again," said Tessie, her cheeks very red.

I begin to get the "class feeling"--to understand a lot of things I
wanted to know first hand. In the first place, there is no thought
ever, and I don't see in that factory how there can be, for the boss
and his interests. Who is he? Where is he? The nearest one comes to
him is the pop-eyed man at the door. Once in a while Ida hollers "For
Gawd's sake, girls, work faster!" Now that doesn't inspire to
increased production for long. There stands Tessie across the table
from me--peasant Tessie from near Muenchen, with her sweet face and
white turned-up cap.