eal's neat business chirography. She had
written her account briefly and with restraint, building her "story"
around the girl's letter. It set forth the tragedy of a petty swindle.

The scheme was as simple as it was cruel. A concern calling itself "The
Sewing Aid Association" advertised for sewing-women, offering from ten
to fifteen dollars a week to workers; experience not necessary. Maggie
Breen answered the advertisement. The manager explained to her that the
job was making children's underclothing from pattern. She would be
required to come daily to the factory and sew on a machine which she
would purchase from the company, the price, thirty dollars, being
reckoned as her first three weeks' wages. To all this, duly set forth in
a specious contract, the girl affixed her signature.

She was set to work at once. The labor was hard, the forewoman a driver,
but ten dollars a week is good pay. Hoping for a possible raise Maggie
turned out more garments than any of her fellow workers. For two weeks
and a half all went well. In another few days the machine would be paid
for, the money would begin to come in, and Maggie would get a really
square meal, which she had come to long for with a persistent and severe
hankering. Then the trap was sprung. Maggie's work was found
"unsatisfactory." She was summarily discharged. In vain did she protest.
She would try again; she would do better. No use; "the house" found her
garments unmarketable. Sorrowfully she asked for her money. No money was
due her. Again she protested. The manager thrust a copy of her contract
under her nose and turned her into the street. Thus the "Sewing Aid
Association" had realized upon fifteen days' labor for which they had
not paid one cent, and the "installment" sewing-machine was ready for
its next victim. This is a very pleasant and profitable policy and is in
use, in one form or another, in nearly every American city. Proof of
which the sufficiently discerning eye may find in the advertising
columns of many of our leading newspapers and magazines.

To Maggie Breen it was small consolation that she was but one of many.
Even her simple mind grasped the "joker" in the contract. She tore up
that precious document, went home, reflected that she was rather hungry
and likely to be hungrier, quite wretched and likely to be wretcheder;
and so made a decoction of sulphur matches and drank it. An ambulance
surgeon disobligingly arrived in time to save her life fo