And where could I make
three dollars a week?"
"Is that what they pay you?"
"Yes--that is--when we are on full time."
"Does it make all the girls sick?" he inquired. "There's that girl who
came in this afternoon--she seems well and strong."
"Bessie, you mean? But it's just play for her, you see. She lives with
her parents and stops whenever she feels like it. She just wants to
buy dresses and go to the theater."
"But that girl we passed on the street to-day!"
"Helen Davis. Ah, yes--but she's different again. She's bad."
"Bad?" echoed Samuel perplexed.
There was a brief pause. It was not easy for him to adjust himself to
a world in which the good were of necessity frail and ill, and the bad
were rosy-cheeked and merry. "How do you mean?" he asked at last.
And Sophie answered quite simply, "She lives with a fellow."
The blood leaped into Samuel's face. Such a blunder for him to have
made.
But then the flush passed, giving place to a feeling of horrified
wonder. For Sophie was not in the least embarrassed--she spoke in the
most matter-of-fact tone. And this from a child of thirteen, who did
not look to be ten.
"I see," said he in a faint voice.
"A good many of the girls do it," she added. "You see, they move about
so much--the mills close, and so a girl has no hope of marrying. But
mothers says it's wrong, just the same."
And Samuel walked home the rest of the way in silence, and thinking no
more about the joys of music.
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