Ten Days in a Mad-House and Other Stories (15 page)

my work, and I would not ask any friend to commit herself to

further my efforts. Many girls must at one time be without

references, I thought, and this encouraged me to make the risk.

On Monday afternoon a letter came to the
World
office from a

lawyer, complaining of an agency where, he claimed, a client of his

had paid for a servant, and the agent then refused to produce a girl.

This shop I decided to make my first essay. Dressed to look the

character I wanted to represent, I walked up Fourth Avenue until I

found No. 69, the place I wanted. It was a low frame building which

retained all the impressions of old age. The room on the first floor

was filled with a conglomeration of articles which gave it the

appearance of a second-hand store. By a side door, leaning against

the wall, was a large sign which told the passing public that that was

the entrance to the “Germania Servants’ Agency.” On a straight, blue

board, fastened lengthwise to a second-story window, was, in large,

encouraging white letters, the ominous word “Servants.”

I entered the side door, and as there was nothing before me but the

dirty, uncarpeted hall and a narrow, rickety-looking staircase, I went

on to my fate. I passed two closed doors on the first landing, and on

the third I saw the word “Office.” I did not knock, but turned the

knob of the door, and, as it stuck top and bottom, I pressed my

shoulder against it. It gave way, so did I, and I entered on my career

as a servant with a tumble. It was a small room, with a low ceiling, a

dusty ingrain carpet and cheaply papered walls. A heavy railing and

a high desk and counter which divided the room gave it the

appearance of a police court. Around the walls were hung colored

advertisements of steamship lines and maps. Above the mantel,

which was decorated with two plaster-paris busts, was a square

sheet of white paper. I viewed the large black letters on this paper

with a quaking heart. “References Investigated!!” with two

exclamation points. Now, if it had only been put quietly and mildly,

or even with one exclamation point, but two–dreadful. It was a death

warrant to the idea I had of writing my own references if any were

demanded.

A young woman who was standing with a downcast head by the

window turned to look at the abrupt newcomer. A man who had

apparently been conversing with her came hastily forward to the

desk. He was a middle-sized man, with a sharp, gray eye, a bald

head, and a black frock-coat buttoned up tightly, showing to

disadvantage his rounded shoulders.

“Well?” he said to me, in a questioning manner, as he glanced

quickly over my “get up.”

Ten Days in a Mad-House

“Are you the man who gets places for girls?” I asked, as if there were

but one such man.

“Yes, I’m the man. Do you want a place?” he asked, with a decidedly

German twang.

“Yes, I want a place,” I replied.

“What did you work at last?”

“Oh, I was a chambermaid. Can you get me a position, do you

think?”

“Yes, I can do that,” he replied. “You’re a nice-looking girl and I can

soon get you a place. Just the other day I got a girl a place for $20 a

month, just because she was nice-looking. Many gentlemen, and

ladies also, will pay more when girls are nice-looking. Where did

you work last?”

“I worked in Atlantic City,” I replied, with a mental cry for

forgiveness.

“Have you no city references?”

“No, none whatever; but I want a job in this city, that’s why I came

here.”

“Well, I can get you a position, never fear, only some people are

mighty particular about references.”

“Have you no place you can send me to now?” I said, determined to

get at my business as soon as possible.

“You have to pay to get your name entered on the book first,” he

said, opening a large ledger as he asked, “What is your name?”

“How much do you charge?” I asked, in order to give me time to

decide on a name.

“I charge you one dollar for the use of the bureau for a month, and if

I get you a big salary you will have to pay more.”

“How much more?”

“That depends entirely on your salary,” he answered, non-

committal. “Your name?”

“Now, if I give you a dollar you will assure me a situation?”

“Certainly, that’s what I’m here for.”

“And you guarantee me work in this city?” I urged.

“Oh, certainly, certainly; that’s what this agency is for. I’ll get you a

place, sure enough.”

Ten Days in a Mad-House

“All right, I’ll give you a dollar, which is a great deal for a girl out of

work. My name is Sally Lees.”

“What shall I put you down for?” he asked.

“Oh, anything,” I replied, with a generosity that surprised myself.

“Then I shall put it chambermaid, waitress, nurse or seamstress.” So

my name, or the one assumed, was entered in the ledger, and as I

paid my dollar I ventured the information that if he gave me a

situation directly I should be pleased to give him more money. He

warmed up at this and told me he should advertise me in the

morning.

“Then you have no one in want of help now?”

“We have plenty of people, but not just now. They all come in the

morning. This is too late in the day. Where are you boarding?”

At this moment a woman clad in a blue dress, with a small, black

shawl wrapped around her, entered from a room in the rear. She also

looked me over sharply, as if I was an article for sale, as the man told

her in German all that he knew about me.

“You can stay here,” she said, in broken, badly broken English, after

she had learned that I was friendless in the city. “Where is your

baggage?”

“I left my baggage where I paid for my lodging to-night,” I

answered. They tried to induce me to stop at their house. Only $2.50

a week, with board, or 20 cents a night for a bed. They urged that it

was immaterial to them, only I had a better chance to secure work if I

was always there; it was only for my own good they suggested it. I

had one glance of the adjoining bedroom, and that sight made me

firm in my determination to sleep elsewhere.

As the evening drew on I felt they would have no more applications

for servants that afternoon, and after asking the hour that I should

return in the morning, I requested a receipt for my money. “You

don’t need to be so particular,” he said, crossly, but I told him I was,

and insisted until he was forced to comply. It was not much of a

receipt. He wrote on the blank side of the agency’s advertising card:

“Sally Lees has paid $1. Good for one month use of bureau. 69 4th

Ave.”

On the following morning, about 10:30, I made my appearance at the

agency. Some eight or ten girls were in the room and the man who

had pocketed my fee on the previous afternoon still adorned the

throne back of the desk. No one said good-morning, or anything else

for that matter, so I quietly slid onto a chair near the door. The girls

were all comfortably dressed, and looked as if they had enjoyed

hearty breakfasts. All sat silent, with a dreamy expression on their

faces, except two who stood by the window watching the passing

throng and conversing in whispers with one another. I wanted to be

with or near them, so that I might hear what was said. After waiting

for some time I decided to awake the man to the fact that I wanted

work, not a rest.

“Have you no place to send me this morning?”

“No; but I advertised you in the paper,” and he handed me the

Tribune
of October 25 and pointed out the following notice:

“NURSE,&c.–By excellent, very neat English girl as nurse and

seamstress, chambermaid and waitress, or parlor maid. Call at 69 4th

ave.; no cards answered.”

I choked down a laugh as I read myself advertised in this manner, and wondered what my
role
would be the next time. I began to hope

some one would soon call for the excellent girl, but when an aged

gentleman entered I wished just as fervently that he was not after

me. I was enjoying my position too much, and I fear I could not

restrain my gravity if any one began to question me. Poor old

gentleman! He looked around helplessly, as if he was at a loss to

know what to do. The agent did not leave him long in doubt. “You

want a girl, sir?”

“Yes, my wife read an advertisement in the
Tribune
this morning,

and she sent me here to see the girl.”

“Yes, yes, excellent girl, sir, come right back here,” opening the gates

and giving the gentleman a chair behind the high counter. “You

come here, Sally Lees,” indicating a chair beside the visitor for me. I

sat down with an inward chuckle and the agent leaned over the back

of a chair. The visitor eyed me nervously, and after clearing his

throat several times and making vain attempts at a beginning, he

said:

“You are the girl who wants work?” And after I answered in the

affirmative, he said: “Of course you know how to do all these

things–you know what is required of a girl?”

“Oh, yes, I know,” I answered confidently.

“Yes–well, how much do you want a month?”

“Oh, anything,” I answered, looking to the agent for aid. He

understood the look, for he began hurriedly:

“Fourteen dollars a month, sir. She is an excellent girl, good, neat,

quick and of an amiable disposition.”

I was astonished at his knowledge of my good qualities, but I

maintained a lofty silence.

“Yes, yes,” the visitor said, musingly. “My wife only pays ten dollars

a month, and then if the girl is all right she is willing to pay more,

you know. I really couldn’t, you know—”

“We have no ten-dollar-girls here, sir,” said the agent with dignity;

“you can’t get an honest, neat, and respectable girl for that amount.”

“H’m, yes; well, this girl has good references, I suppose?”

“Oh, yes; I know all about her,” said the agent, briskly and

confidently. “She is an excellent girl, and I can give you the best

personal reference–the best of references.”

Here I was, unknown to the agent. So far as he knew, I might be a

confidence woman, a thief, or everything wicked, and yet the agent

was vowing that he had good personal references.

“Well, I live in Bloomfield, N.J., and there are only four in the family.

Of course you are a good washer and ironer?” he said, turning to me.

Before I had time to assure him of my wonderful skill in that line, the

agent interposed: “This is not the girl you want. No, sir, this girl

won’t do general housework. This is the girl you are after,” bringing

up another. “She does general housework,” and he went on with a

long list of her virtues, which were similar to those he had professed

to find in me. The visitor got very nervous and began to insist that he

could not take a girl unless his wife saw her first. Then the agent,

when he found it impossible to make him take a girl, tried to induce

the gentleman to join the bureau. “It will only cost you $2 for the use