conclude that the happiest women in all New York City were
the housekeepers in men's clubs. The work was light, they were well
treated--it was a job for anyone to strive for. The type of men or
women in clubs, they remarked, was ahead of what you'd draw in any
hotel.

The parlor maid, an attractive, gray-haired woman--indeed, all three
were gray-haired--was very pleased with her job at our hotel. She
slept there and loved it. The rooms were so clean--your towels were
changed daily just as for the guests. Sure she was very contented. If
her mother were only alive--she died two years ago--she'd be the
happiest woman in the world, she just knew it. But every single
morning she woke up with an empty feeling in her heart for the
longings after her mother.

* * * * *

My diary of Thursday of that first week starts: "The best day since
I've been trying jobs--Glory be, it was rich!" And pages follow as to
the wonders of that one day--wonders to me, who was after what the
workers themselves think about the universe in general.

When I found how hard the Spanish woman I relieved at 1.30 had to
work, how much more rushed she was from 6 to 1.30 than ever I was from
1.30 to 9, and when I learned, in addition, that she received no more
pay for all her extra labors, I told her I would come early every day
and help her during the rush. This is all good psychology and I give
it for what it is worth. The first few days, this Thursday being one
of them, she was very grateful--spoke often of how much it helped to
have me there early. My last morning during my two weeks of the hotel
job I was so rushed with final errands to do before leaving New York
that it was impossible for me to arrive at work before 1.30, my
regular and appointed time. The Spanish woman knew it was my last day.
But she was so put out to think I had not arrived early that she
whisked out of that compartment the second I arrived, only taking time
to give me one fearful and unmistakable glare. Kelly caught the
remnants of it as she swung by him. He sauntered over to my counter.
"Say, the nerve of some people!"

That Thursday noon, I ate with the workers in the help's kitchen. So
much talk! First there was a row on fit to rend the rafters. One of
the Irish girls plumped herself down to eat and raved on about Lizzie,
an Armenian girl, and something or other Lizzie had done or hadn't
done with the silverware. Everyone was frank as to what