tress who speaks only German. Across the frontier
I thus become they communicate with signs, and I get my share of work
planned out by each. Every woman in the place is cross except the girl
next to me. She has only just come in and the poison of the forewoman
has not yet stung her into ill nature. She is, like all the foreigners,
neatly, soberly dressed in a sensible frock of good durable material.
The few Americans in the shop have on elaborate shirt-waists in
light-coloured silks with fancy ribbon collars. We are well paid, there
is no doubt of it. We begin work at 8 A.M. and have a generous half-hour
at noon. Most of the girls are Germans and Poles, and they have all
received training as tailoresses in their native countries. To the sharp
onslaught of Frances' tongue they make no response except in dogged
silent obedience, whereas the dressy Americans with their proper spirit
of independence touch the limit of insubordination at every new command.
Insults are freely exchanged; threats ring out on the tired ears.
Frances is ubiquitous. She scolds the tailors with a torrent of abuse,
she terrorizes the handsome manikin, she bewilders the kindly Mr. F.,
and before three days have passed she has dismissed the neat little
Polish girl, in tears. This latter comes to me, her face wrought with
emotion. She was receiving nine dollars a week; it is her first place in
America. This sudden dismissal, its injustice, requires an explanation.
She cannot speak a word of English and asks me to put my poor German at
her service as interpreter.

Mr. F. is clearly a man who advocates everything for peace, and as there
is for him no peace when Frances is not satisfied, we gain little by our
appeal to him except a promise that he will attend later to the troubles
of the Polish girl. But later, as earlier, Frances triumphs, and I soon
bid good-by to my seatmate and watch her tear-stained face disappear
down the dingy hallway. She was a skilled tailoress, but she could not
cut out men's garments, so Frances dismissed her. I wonder when my turn
will come, for I am a green hand and yet determined to keep the American
spirit. For the sake of justice I will not be downed by Frances.

It is hard to make friends with the girls; we dare not converse lest a
fresh insult be hurled at us. For every mistake I receive a loud, severe
correction. When night comes I am exhausted. The work is easy, yet the
moral atmosphere is more wearing than the noise o