en-year
journey, from which I have gathered that they lie some miles apart. As
for Forty-second Street, of which musical comedians carol, I know not if
it be a fashionable shopping thoroughfare or a factory district.

A confession of this kind is not only good for the soul, but for the
editor. It saves him the trouble of turning to page two.

This is a story of Chicago, which is a first cousin of New York, although
the two are not on chummy terms. It is a story of that part of Chicago
which lies east of Dearborn Avenue and south of Division Street, and
which may be called the Nottingham curtain district.

In the Nottingham curtain district every front parlor window is
embellished with a "Rooms With or Without Board" sign. The curtains
themselves have mellowed from their original
department-store-basement-white to a rich, deep tone of Chicago smoke,
which has the notorious London variety beaten by several shades. Block
after block the two-story-and-basement houses stretch, all grimy and
gritty and looking sadly down upon the five square feet of mangy grass
forming the pitiful front yard of each. Now and then the monotonous line
of front stoops is broken by an outjutting basement delicatessen shop.
But not often. The Nottingham curtain district does not run heavily to
delicacies. It is stronger on creamed cabbage and bread pudding.

Up in the third floor back at Mis' Buck's (elegant rooms $2.50 and up a
week. Gents preferred) Gertie was brushing her hair for the night. One
hundred strokes with a bristle brush. Anyone who reads the beauty column
in the newspapers knows that. There was something heroic in the sight of
Gertie brushing her hair one hundred strokes before going to bed at
night. Only a woman could understand her doing it.

Gertie clerked downtown on State Street, in a gents' glove department. A
gents' glove department requires careful dressing on the part of its
clerks, and the manager, in selecting them, is particular about choosing
"lookers," with especial attention to figure, hair, and finger nails.
Gertie was a looker. Providence had taken care of that. But you cannot
leave your hair and finger nails to Providence. They demand coaxing with
a bristle brush and an orangewood stick.

Now clerking, as Gertie would tell you, is fierce on the feet. And when
your feet are tired you are tired all over. Gertie's feet were tired
every night. About eight-thirty she longed to peel off her cloth