Chapter 33
Etta, is that you? Yes, it's me, Aunt Jan. Say, it's I, dear. What brings you to the city, Sunday? I stayed in town last night. There was a dance at Marjorie Bowen's cousin's house, and Muth said I could go. We had a perfectly divine time. Her aunt chaperoned us, and I slept with Marge. I thought maybe you'd be going down to Cohasset Beach this morning and we'd go together. So I got up, left the girls in bed, had my breakfast, and took a
bus to come down to see you. I want to talk to you about something. But dear, I wasn't going to the country today. I promised an old friend of mine who lives at the Navy Yard in Brooklyn I'd go to see her this afternoon. Etta's face fell, and she frowned disconsolately at the carpet. Her aunt suspected something was troubling her. Couldn't you tell me what's on your mind now? Oh, it wasn't anything particular. I wanted to ask your advice, and I thought we'd have a talk as we went down in
the train. A bright light suddenly came into the girl's face. Is it Miss Holland you're going to see, Aunt Janie. Won't you let me go with you? Remember I met her that day she was here to lunch? She's perfectly sweet. I'd just love to visit the Navy Yard. Well, I don't think you'll find many ensigns or lieutenants hanging about on Sunday. Oh, but it would be lots of fun, just the same. I'll phone Muth. I'm with you and take a late train this aft. Please say yes, Aunt Janie. Please say
yes. The girl was jumping up and down in eagerness. Well, her aunt said with an amused but doubtful smile. I don't see what you'd get out of it, particularly. I just love the trip, and I'd like being with you, Aunt Jannie. Really, I would. Jeanette narrowed her lids and eyed her skeptically. She was pleased, nevertheless. Her niece's excessive ebullition and high spirits never failed to divert her. She liked the child's company, the girl had a great respect for her
worldly judgment, much more than she had for her mother's or father's, and the older woman found it an engaging business to expound her theories of life and her views of affairs to the younger one. I'm not going until after lunch, she said, still with a vague hesitancy in her manner. I don't mind waiting a bit. Can you amuse yourself until noon? I have some office work to do that will take me about an hour. Miss Alexander's gone to church, but she'll be back directly.
Could I make some egg muffins? We could have them for lunch, and they're awfully nice, and I'm really good at them, Jeanette noted the child's palpitant eagerness again with mild amusement. I think that would be lovely, she consented, her fine eyes twinkling. But don't get things out there in a mess. Miss Alexander won't like it if she comes home and finds everything upset. I'll be ever and ever so careful, agreed Etta, already
skipping toward the kitchen. Jeanette took herself back to the cold front room, seldom used by either herself or Beatrice, and brought her thoughts once more to the construction of the half-finished circular letter, which must be ready for the composing room early Monday morning. She heard Beatrice come in presently, and an hour later, as she was completing the last revision of her work, Etta appeared breathlessly to announce lunch. The egg muffins were excellent and received
enthusiastic praise, Jeanette ate them with the heated canned tamales and sipped her tea, one eye on the clock, for she was anxious to make an early start if Etta was to catch, at any seemingly hour, a train back to Cohasset Beach. It was after two before she and her niece found themselves seated in the thundering subway. Well now, tell me your troubles, my dear, Jeanette began. I want to hear all about them. But Etta had to be coaxed before she would become
communicative. Oh, it's this! She finally burst out, striking her skirt with disdainful fingers. It's my clothes, Aunt Jan. I was horribly ashamed last night. There wasn't a girl there at Marjorie's cousin's party who wasn't a lot better dressed than I. I felt awful and was so embarrassed. One of the girl's older sister was there, and I saw her taking an inventory of everything I had on. I just wanted to sink through the floor.
Muth does everything she possibly can to see that I look decent, and I know better than anyone else what she does without so that I can have things. But I don't want that. I don't want Muth and Dad denying themselves on my account. I want to be able to take care of myself and buy my own clothes,
earn my own living, and be independent. Aunt Jan, won't you get me a job at your office? Won't you back me up with Muth and Dad and urge them to let me go to work? I don't want to stay at home and just help Muth here and there with the housework and do nothing else but go to the movies and dance jazz.
They call me a flapper. And I suppose I am one. But what else is there for me to be? I hate it, Aunt Jan. I hate being a flapper.
I want to be something different and better. I want to make my own way in the world and not be obliged to stick around home until a man with enough money comes along and asks me to marry. It was the old familiar cry, the cry of youth calling for self-expression, the cry of budding life eager for experience, the cry of young womanhood demanding independence, emancipation. The words rang familiarly in the
old woman's ears, and she smiled sadly with a sorry headshake. Why, what's the matter, Aunt Jan? asked the girl after a troubled scrutiny of her companion's face. Don't you think I have a right to earn my own living if I want to? She renewed her arguments with characteristic vehemence. There was nothing new in them for Jeanette. She had voiced them all herself twenty-five years ago. A memory of her patient, hard-working little mother came to her, and she saw her once
again with the comforter over her knees, the knitted red shawl pinned across her shoulders, thin of hair, with trembling pendant cheeks bending over the canvas-covered ledger, figuring, figuring, figuring, and she saw herself, the impatient eighteen-year-old striking her faded velvet dress with angry fingers, protesting against the humiliation her shabby attire occasioned her, asking to be allowed to work to earn the money that would permit her to dress as
other girls dressed and be her own mistress, self-supporting. How well she, Jeanette, could now sympathize with that earnest, tearful little mother. She looked at Etta and in her mind saw her anxiously taking dictation from some frowning businessman, saw her white flying fingers busy at some switchboard disentangling telephone cords, pictured her perched on a tall stool, bending over a great tome, making careful entries, saw her folding circulars, writing cards, filing
letters, giving her youth, her eagerness and beauty to the grim treadmill of business life, and her heart filled with pain. And there's no reason on earth, Etta was saying, why I shouldn't help out at home. Dad and Muth have given all their lives to us children. They've denied themselves and denied themselves just so we can have clothes for our backs, enough to eat and go to school. It isn't fair. It's time I helped. I could go to business college, take a course,
and in three months I could learn to be a stenographer and earn fifteen or twenty dollars a week. Hush, child, hush. You don't know what you're talking about. Jeanette broke in, suddenly stirred to speech. I threw away my life, talking just that kind of nonsense. To learn to earn her own living is a dangerous thing for a young girl. Why, how do you mean, Aunt Jan? Its effect is poison. It's like a drug, a disease. I've paid bitterly for my financial independence. I sacrificed everything
that was precious to me because I wanted to be self-supporting. Etta, dear, life is a hard game for women at best, but waiting within the shelter of her own home for the man she'll someday come to love and who will love her is the best and wisest course for a girl to follow. But I hate the kind of life I'm living. There's nothing ahead of me but marriage unless I go to work. You wouldn't want me to marry just because I was bored at home, and I've known lots of girls to do
that. I never meet any attractive men, only high school kids and rah-rah boys out of college. Wouldn't I have a much better chance to meet a finer class of young men around business offices? I mean serious-minded, ambitious young men? It seems to me I'd have much more opportunity to meet a man I'd admire, and who might want me to marry him if I went to work than I ever will waiting stupidly at home.
It doesn't make any difference where you meet him, whether it is in business or at a high school dance, Jeanette answered. He's bound to find you, and you him. I hate to see you go to work. You pay a fearful penalty in doing so.
It makes you regard marriage lightly and prejudices you against having children. Oh, I shall want children! exclaimed Etta promptly. She proceeded to outline just what were her requirements in a husband and to give her views on the subject of having children. Her aunt was somewhat disconcerted to discover that she had these matters
as far as they concerned herself entirely settled in her own mind. Oh, yes, indeed, Etta repeated. I shall want children, perhaps not such a lot of them as Muth and Dad have. They would have had a much easier time of it if they'd had only one or two. Instead of always being poor and having to struggle,
they could have lived in considerable comfort, and now there would be no question about their being able to send me to Bryn Mauer or Vassar. I think two children are enough for any couple. Now, my idea, Aunt Janny. Oh, for heaven's sakes, Etta! Jeanette interrupted with impatience.
You don't know what you're talking about. What does your education, or Ralph's education, amount to in comparison with the lives of Frank, Nettie, and Baby Roy? You'll have a great deal more worthwhile education pounded into you by having brothers and sisters, and by having to help your mother take care of them, than you would ever get at Bryn Mauer.
More than that, just living in the same house with them, being brought up with them, and learning to deny yourself now and then for their sake has taught you unselfishness, forbearance that will make you a far better wife and mother than ten years of college education. Your father and mother with you children about them, with the hard problems you present, with the ever-pressing question of ways and means before them, with the solving of these problems,
for there is always a solution, are among the most enviable people in the world. There was a time when I used to feel sorry for your mother, but now I look at her with only admiration and jealousy. You think of her as poor. Well, I think of her as rich. And I attribute much of the happiness she has had out of life to the fact that she never went into business. Stay out of it, Etta, my dear, whatever you do.
It's an unnatural environment for a girl, and in it her mind and soul has surely become contaminated, as if she deliberately went to live in a smallpox camp. Look at me, my dear. I've given twenty years of my life to business, and what have I to show for it? Nothing but a very lonely and selfish old age. Oh, Aunt Jan, cried the girl, shocked into protesting. How can you say such things? Why, I think you're one of the handsomest, happiest, most enviable, smart-dressed women in the world.
Jeanette laughed. Well, I didn't mean to deliver a curtain lecture. I just hated the thought of your following in my footsteps. It makes me actually shudder even to think of it, but I didn't mean to get started the way I did.
Here, she suddenly cried, gathering her things together and hurriedly getting to her feet, this is the bridge. We have to get off here and change cars. The house just inside the high iron fence of the Navy Yard in which Commander Jerome Sedgwick lived was a three-story square, dirty-cream-painted cement affair, which bore his name in a small,
neat sign on the third step of the front stairs. Across the street from it, children racketed upon a city playground, and in its rear some green-painted hothouses leaned haphazardly against one another, their backs turned upon a quadrangle where several orderly tennis courts were located. Jeanette had visited Miss Holland here many times, and one summer a few years ago had spent her two weeks vacation keeping her old friend company, while the nephew, Jerry, was enjoying a month's
leave with his family, fishing among the main lakes. A little girl of five, just tall enough to reach the knob, opened the door a few inches and stared up unsmiling at the visitors. How do you do, Sarah? said Jeanette, recognizing the child. Is your mama at home? Sarah continued to stare stolidly a moment, then turned and disappeared, leaving the door hardly more than ajar. Jeanette and Etta could hear the sound of her shrill piping voice and her small running
feet within. Mrs. Sedgwick came rustling to greet the callers promptly, and in her wake limped Miss Holland. Oh, you dear, exclaimed the latter, catching sight of Jeanette. I'm so glad you came. I've been hungering for a sight of you for weeks. She kissed her friend warmly on both cheeks. Etta was presented.
The child begged to be allowed to come, explained her aunt. She wanted a glimpse of the yard. Why, certainly, exclaimed Mrs. Sedgwick cordially. I'm delighted you brought her. Jerry, unfortunately, isn't home, but I have to take Sarah and Junior out shortly,
and I'll be charmed to show your niece about and leave you two to gossip by yourselves. Miss Holland, her thin, knuckly, white hand on Jeanette's forearm, drew her into the sitting room. Take off your things down here, my dear. I can't climb stairs very well on account of my knees, and no one's coming in. How is your rheumatism? inquired Jeanette. About the same. It keeps me rather helpless, and the doctor is actually starving me to death. What with the
things he says I can't eat and the things I don't like, my menus are rather limited. The two women settled themselves before the small, glowing coal fire in an old-fashioned grate and began talking in low tones. Mrs. Sedgwick excused herself to make the children ready to go out, while Etta stood at the window, gazing with absorbed interest at any evidence of Navy life that came within the range of her vision. Excuse me, Miss Holland?
She interrupted presently with her usual breathlessness. Do you happen to know, or did you ever hear Commander Sedgwick mention a young ensign named White? Miss Holland looked doubtful. My friend Marjorie Bowen knew him, or knew his sister, I think, while he was at Annapolis. Well, I'm afraid, began Miss Holland. Etta proceeded hastily to another observation. There was a destroyer in Cohasset Bay last summer,
anchored right off the yacht club, and I saw two of the officers on shore one day. I don't know what their names were, of course, but during the war I knew several of the boys in the reserves. Asa Pulitzer was a boatswain's mate. I think that's what he was. Jeanette turned an indulgent smile upon Miss Holland. Asa Pulitzer is the local grocer's son. Well, I don't care if he is, protested Etta. He made good. Miss Sedgwick wrestled downstairs at this moment, making a
timely entrance, she carried Etta off with assurance of returning in time for tea. Well, said Jeanette comfortably, as the pleasant hour of companionship and confidences began, you don't look as if you've been ill. Not ill, exactly. It's this wretched rheumatism that will not get better. Miss Holland's tone was not complaining. Indeed, she always spoke with remarkable placidity. Jeanette regarded her with all her old admiration.
There was an unusual aristocratic quality about Miss Holland that never failed to stir her. She was white-haired now, fragile and thin-looking, and there was an uncertainty about her movements, but she still bore herself with distinction, a gentlewoman to her fingertips. Even more than the air of gentility that surrounded her, Jeanette esteemed the shrewd brain, nimble wit, and judgment of this woman. It seemed a sad and sorry thing to her that so splendid a personality, so fine an intellect,
should have had so little opportunity for self-expression in the world, and that at sixty Miss Holland should be no more than what she seemed, an old maid, growing yearly more and more crippled, passing what days remained to her with her nephew and her nephew's family, somewhat of a problem, somewhat in the way. Of course they loved her, Jeanette knew that Commander Sedgwick was devoted to his aunt and treated her with as much respect and affection
as her son did his mother, but, after all, on the brink of old age Miss Holland's course was run, and how little she had to show for all her years of toil and faithfulness. She had spent her life at an underling's desk, and given her wisdom and her strength to a business that had paid her barely enough to support herself and make it possible for her to give her nephew his profession. Miss Holland, Jeanette asked impulsively,
what did the Corrie Company pay you towards the end of your employment there? Fifty dollars a week for the last five years I was with them. And altogether, you were there... Twenty-five years, why do you ask? I was thinking how little they appreciated you.
Mr. Kipps told me, Miss Holland said with a reminiscent smile, that it would never do to pay women employees more than fifty a week. They wouldn't know what to do with the money. He didn't. Oh, yes.
He claimed it would demoralize them. He used to say they would be sure to throw it away on fripperies. Fripperies, you remember, was a great word of his. It still is. Mr. Kipps's attitude is typical, I think, of the average employer of women.
This is a man-made world, as perhaps you've noticed, my dear. Did you ever stop to consider the injustice to which working women are subjected? Do you realize there are about 12 million working women on payrolls in the United States? That $20 a week is a very high wage for any one of them to receive, and 6 million of them, or half of the entire number, earn between 10 and 12 a week?
I happen to have the statistics issued by the Women's Bureau of the Department of Labor. Miss Holland pushed herself up erect from her chair, and her face showed the pain the effort cost her. Can't I get it for you? offered Jeanette hastily. No, no, thanks very much, it's right here. I can put my hand on it in just a minute. From a desk near at hand she produced a government report. I came across this the other day, and I saved it because it proves what I have
always felt about the unfairness with which women are treated in business. They may perform equal work with men, but very few of them are paid as well. The average annual earning power of the male industrial worker now is at the rate of $1,000 a year, that of the woman industrial worker $5,000 to $600. Among office workers the disparity is much greater. When I was getting $50 a week as Mr. Kipp's chief assistant. There was a youth helping me who was being paid sixty.
I know, agreed Jeanette. When Tommy Livingston followed me as Mr. Corey's secretary, he did not do the work half as competently as I had done. Mr. Corey often told me so, and yet he was paid more at the very start, and asked for and received one raise after another until Mr. Corey was paying him nearly twice what he formerly had paid me. But when I went back to work after I left Martin. Mr. Corey started me in again at the old salary of thirty-five
and never suggested a higher rate. Walt Chase was getting eighty-five dollars weekly as head of the mail order department, and when I took charge I received only forty. Although I have doubled the amount of business the Corey Publishing Company does by mail, I am today being paid but fifty a week. Mr. Allister told me when I asked for my last raise that it was the last he would ever give me. Almost all employers underpay their women workers, affirmed Miss Holland.
In general, women are receiving today from a half to two-thirds what men are who do identically the same kind of work. I was discussing this question once with Mr. Kibbs, and he defended himself by stating that the majority of girls who fill office positions only work for pin money. Pin money? What is pin money? Dollars and cents, I take it, with which to buy clothes and some amusement. Don't men need pin money, too? Doesn't everyone? When the Corrie Publishing Company
employs a young man, a high school or college graduate, what he is paid per week is never spoken of as pin money, yet he spends it for exactly the same things as girls do. I've often wondered if Mr. Kipps considers the salaries he paid you and me, Mrs. O'Brien and Miss Travers, Miss Whaley, Miss Foster, Miss Bixby, Miss Kate Smith, old Mrs. Jewett, Mrs. Martle, and Mrs. Stenecky as pin money. Most of those women not only supported themselves, but their old mothers
and fathers. Their younger brothers and sisters are some helpless relative. Mrs. O'Brien had two daughters she kept at Ladycliffe for nine years. Miss Travers has a bedridden sister, Miss Whaley, her mother, Miss Jewett, a tubercular husband, and Kate Smith is putting her young brother through dental college. Yes, interrupted Jeanette, Mrs. Martle has two children of her own she is taking care of and one of her sisters, and she's getting only forty dollars a week. How does she do it?
exclaimed Miss Holland. I'm sure I don't know. Beatrice Alexander has been sending $30 a month to her helpless old aunt in Albany for the past 15 years. That's where the pin money goes, declared Miss Holland with a note of scorn in her voice. These silent, uncomplaining, hard-working women who give their lives to the grind of business. I feel keenly the rank injustice that is being done them. There was a moment's silence, and Miss Holland continued.
Mr. Kipps's great argument was always that girls who came seeking employment did so with the intention of working only a year or two and then getting married. He argued that a concern could not regard these women as permanent employees to be trained to fill important positions. They could not be depended upon to remain with a business and grow up with it. I must say, broke in Jeanette with fine sarcasm, that great inducements are offered them to do so.
At the end of twenty and twenty-five years' faithful and efficient work in such positions as you filled and as I fill today, they are paid fifty dollars a week. I answered him, Miss Holland went on after an appreciative nod, that neither could the men he employed he considered as fixtures. I reminded him of Van Alstine, Max Oppenheim, Humphrey Stubbs, Walt Chase, Tommy Livingston, and Francis home. There are a hundred others. How many boys starting
into business do you suppose stick for the balance of their lives with the concern for which they first began to work? Not many. Few indeed. It's to keep and hold these same boys and young men that the large corporations today are offering to sell them stock at advantageous rates. Of course it is the girls living at home, observed Jeanette, partially supported by their fathers and mothers or some relative willing to work for small salaries to buy themselves a few extra clothes and a measure of amusement
that are keeping down the salaries paid to women entirely dependent on their earnings. During the war, observed Miss Holland, a hundred thousand women were employed by the railroads to perform the work which the men formerly did before they went into the army. Women cleaned locomotives, tended stockrooms of repair shops, sold tickets, took charge of signal stations, worked as carpenters, machinists, and electricians. Women took the places of men in the steel mills, in the munition plants, in the foundries, and even in coal mines.
the National War Labor Board, headed by William H. Taft, undertook to protect the women workers and laid down the principle that women doing the work formerly performed by men should receive the same pay. In other words, the pay was to be fixed by the job and not by the sex of the employee. Employers throughout the nation followed the ruling of the Labor Board. But that was a wartime measure, said Jeanette, and we all did things then that were altruistic
and patriotic. If women had the physical strength of men, Miss Holland asserted, and could defend their principles by force, there would be a speedy end of injustices. Why do male waiters in our restaurants get higher wages than waitresses? Certainly they don't work any harder or give better service. Suppose all the women workers in New York City formed unions and struck for what they decided adequate pay, a uniform scale of salaries, and
could use the same methods that men would use in preventing women who had not joined the ranks from taking their places. Think what would happen! The work in every office, every bank, every corporation in this city would come promptly to a standstill. The strike would last forty-eight, seventy-two hours, and then the demands of the women would be conceded. You want to remember one thing, my dear. Women never banded together since history began and asked anything that was
unfair or unjust. I was having a very interesting talk with my niece as we were coming here, broke in Jeanette. Etta wants to go to work, wants a position as stenographer in some office, not only to earn extra money with which to help out at home, but to acquire an interest in life that will fill her days. There are a hundred thousand young girls like her in this city today, Consider what effect a job would have on an immature character like Etta's.
I've been all through the bitter mill, and I speak from experience. Financial independence is a dangerous thing for such young girls. It makes them regard marriage with indifference. There is many a girl who has declined to marry a young man to whom she undoubtedly would have made a good wife, merely because his income, which would have to do for both of them,
was no more, or perhaps only a little more, than what she was earning herself. Jeanette's lips closed firmly a moment, and she stared out of the window at the bleak prospect of the yard's quadrangle bordered by closed and silent brick warehouses. But suppose the girl office worker decides to give matrimony a trial, she continued, as I did. Her mind has been distorted by having known what it means to be financially her own
mistress. Instead of bringing to her job of wifehood the resolute determination to make a success of it, from the first she is critical, and on the constant lookout for hardships in her new life, comparing them with the freedom of her old. I should have made Martin a much better wife, Miss Holland, if I had brought to my problem of being his partner the passionate determination that was mine in wanting to make good as Mr. Corey's secretary. I always hugged to myself
the thought that if the time came when I wouldn't like Martin anymore or like being a wife, I could go back to my job. And that is exactly what this thought led me to do. Making any marriage a success is the hardest work I know about both for men and women, and there should be no avenue of easy escape from it for either of them. I'd never have left Martin. I'd have endured his unkindness and lack of consideration.
Or at least what seemed his unkindness and lack of consideration to me then, if there hadn't been any easy way out for me. And we'd have gone on together and made a home for ourselves and our children. All I had to do was to walk out of Martin's house and go back to my job. That's what every wife who has once been a self-supporting wage earner
says to herself from the day she marries. She doesn't even have the trouble of getting a divorce to deter her. It's wrong, I tell you, Miss Holland. It's all wrong. The more I live, the more I am convinced that women have no place in business. No, please let me finish, she said earnestly as her friend started to interrupt.
There's one other angle to this question. The girl who has once tasted independence, but who decides to give matrimony a trial, may go so far as to consent to be a wife, but she stops at becoming a mother. She dreads children. And why? Because she realizes that once a baby is at her breast, she's bound hand and foot to her husband and her home. She can't leave her child with the nonchalance she can her husband.
In the homes of women who have achieved economic independence before they marry, you will find few children and in the majority of cases, none at all. I know a score of girls at one time in office jobs who quit them to be married, but have drawn the line at babies. It seems to me this is of national significance. The country is being deprived of homes and children because of this great invasion of women into business during the last twenty or thirty
years. When I went to work twenty-four years ago, it was the exception for nice girls to go into offices. I remember how my mother fretted over my wanting to do it and how bitterly she opposed me. Now every girl, rich or poor, desires a year or two of business life. Women are devised by nature to be homebuilders and mothers. Anything tending to deflect them from fulfilling their destiny is contrary to nature and is doomed to failure or to have bound up in it its own punishment.
When women compete with men in fields in which they do not belong, they are acting against nature, and as surely as one gets hurt by leaning too far out of a window, so surely do such women pay a penalty for their deeds. Man was condemned in Genesis to work by the sweat of his brow. There is nothing said about women having to work. She was given her own punishment. And here is an obvious fact, Miss Holland. No man likes to work under a woman boss.
When I took charge of the mail order department, three men who had been with Walt Chase resigned rather than work under me. I didn't blame them. It was as repugnant to me to give them orders as it was for them to take them. Now that is a biological obstruction in the way of women's progress in business
that you cannot get away from and which you cannot lay to man's door. Men don't like to work for women, and women don't like to have men assistants. and since man is intended by God and nature to be the worker, and woman is ordained to bear children, I say again that women have no place in business. But Miss Sturgis, Miss Sturgis, cried Miss Holland, do you mean to tell me that women have not the right to earn their own living? Do you mean to
tell me that you and I and all the women in the world must always look to some man to support us? Do you mean to tell me that widows with children to take care of, and women whose husbands are incapacitated or who desert them or turn out to be drunkards or brutes, and women who are adrift in the world and perhaps have never married because they've never been wooed, haven't a right to turn their brains to account and earn their livelihoods? Well, it might be a good plan to limit the women workers to just the classes you mentioned, Jeanette answered. Certainly I won't concede to you that every eighteen-year-old flapper like my niece or your sweet young college graduate has the right to plunge into business and unfit herself for wifehood and motherhood, driving at the same time some needy soul of her own sex out of employment. Calmliness, a fair complexion, have much to do with securing a job for a woman and with helping
her to retain it. The plain girl, or more particularly the middle-aged woman with two children to support, whose beauty has long since deserted her, has small chance against the pink-skinned eighteen-year-old with the bobbed hair and the roguish eye who may only have one-tenth of her ability. No employer ever hires a good-looking young man in preference to a homely one whose years of experience and ability are known. The more faded a woman becomes, the less she is wanted
about an office. Looks play an important part in the role of the businesswoman. She should be judged, I think, not by her appeal to the eye, but by her industry. This is one more reason why I believe women under 30 should be debarred from going to work. If women workers were limited, confined to thousands, let us say, instead of millions, then those privileged to work could earn a proper living wage and dictate the terms under which they should be employed. There are certain professions and
callings to which women are recognizably better suited than men. Nursing and dressmaking are but two of them. If the supply of women for these vocations were limited, the demand would soon fix an adequate wage. It has occurred to me many times, persevered Jeanette, that it would perhaps solve the problem or help solve it if certain professions and certain kinds of work were restricted by law to women. I've been told that in Japan only those who are blind may be embalmers
of the dead. It restricts this vocation to a class of unfortunates which otherwise would have great difficulty in earning its living. And as a consequence there are no blind mendicants in Japan. I would advocate legislation in this country that would restrict certain occupations solely to women, and then I would limit the women who were eligible to fill them to widows or to those who could prove they must support themselves. There is little doubt that becoming wage earners
tends to keep women out of matrimony, Miss Holland said thoughtfully. I know it did with me. There was a young professor of archaeology from Wesselain who wanted me very earnestly to marry, and I should have liked to have done so, but I was working then and had taken Jerry to live with me. He was only eight, and the professor's salary was not large enough for the three of us. And think what a wonderful wife you would have made!
I don't know about that, smiled Miss Holland. But I was interested in his work, and I should have enjoyed helping him. Exactly, cried Jeanette. I have no doubt you would have helped him very materially, whereas you gave your wits and your life in helping Mr. Kipps over the rough parts of his business days
for a consideration of fifty dollars a week. He could have found somebody else who would have helped him just as well. But that doesn't make it any fairer, insisted Jeanette. What have you got to show for your twenty-five years of helping Mr. Kipps? This, she spread out her hand significantly.
Well, I have my old age provided for, said Miss Holland with an indulgent smile. I get my check for half-salary from the office regularly the first of every month. I suppose I'll continue to get that until my rheumatism or my heart carries me off. But is that any reward for twenty-five years of slavery and drudgery? How many thousand and tens of thousands of dollars have your brains saved the Corey Publishing Company?
That isn't all of it. You must remember I have Jerry. Yes, she had Jerry, said Jeanette to herself, lying awake that night for long, aching hours of whirling thoughts after she was in bed. Miss Holland's old age was rich in the love this nephew, his wife, and children bore her, and it came to the sleepless woman in the bed that it was not the love Miss Holland received that mattered. It was what she gave and had given that made her life, in spite of old age,
rheumatism, and growing helplessness, glorious with complete and satisfying happiness. End of Book Three, Chapter Three, Sections One Through Three
