actory designed to provide Mr. Pemberton's daughters-in-law with
motors.

So long as her world was ruled by chance, half-training, and lack of
clear purpose, how could it be other than a hodge-podge?

Sec. 2

She could not take as a holiday the two weeks intervening between the
Wilkins office and Pemberton's. When she left Wilkins's, exulting, "This
is the last time I'll ever go down in one of these rickety elevators,"
she had, besides her fifteen dollars in salary, one dollar and seventeen
cents in the savings-bank.

Mamie Magen gave her the opportunity to spend the two weeks installing a
modern filing-system at Herzfeld & Cohn's.

So Una had a glimpse of the almost beautiful thing business can be.

Herzfeld and Cohn were Jews, old, white-bearded, orthodox Jews; their
unpoetic business was the jobbing of iron beds; and Una was typical of
that New York which the Jews are conquering, in having nebulous
prejudices against the race; in calling them "mean" and "grasping" and
"un-American," and wanting to see them shut out of offices and hotels.

Yet, with their merry eyes, their quick little foreign cries and
gestures of sympathy, their laughter that rumbled in their tremendous
beards, their habit of having coffee and pinochle in the office every
Friday afternoon, their sincere belief that, as the bosses, they were
not omniscient rulers, but merely elder fellow-workers--with these
un-American, eccentric, patriarchal ways, Herzfeld and Cohn had made
their office a joyous adventure. Other people "in the trade" sniffed at
Herzfeld and Cohn for their Quixotic notions of discipline, but they
made it pay in dividends as well as in affection. At breakfast Una would
find herself eager to get back to work, though Herzfeld and Cohn had but
a plain office in an ugly building of brownstone and iron Corinthian
columns, resembling an old-fashioned post-office, and typical of all
that block on Church Street. There was such gentleness here as Una was
not to find in the modern, glazed-brick palace of Pemberton's.

Sec. 3

Above railroad yards and mean tenements in Long Island City, just across
the East River from New York, the shining milky walls of Pemberton's
bulk up like a castle overtowering a thatched village. It is
magnificently the new-fashioned, scientific, efficient business
institution.... Except, perhaps, in one tiny detail. King Pemberton and
his princely sons do not believe in all this nonsense about
profit-shari