Mrs. Johnson took the parcel of silk underwear and slipped it under the garments on our table. Later, when it was uncovered by a customer, Mrs. McDavit handed it to the aisle manager, who in turn sent it to the lost and found desk. At six o’clock the extra saleswomen were called on to sign for and receive their pay for that day. Opening my envelope I stared at its contents. I had risen before six, dressed without time for a proper bath, cooked my breakfast, stood packed like a sardine in a subway train for more than ten miles, worked standing on my feet all day, been forced to accept the vile allurements of an old reprobate all for—one dollar. Surely no ruby, no pearl, ever cost more! A bit of green paper! It was nearly half past six when the closing-bell rang—the store having first to be cleared of inconsiderate customers. Another ten minutes was consumed in tidying up the counters and drawing on their covers. And yet another ten minutes was required to cross to the loft building and get our hats and coats. As we poured out the wide door a steady stream of women and girls, by the hundreds, it gave me a thrill of pleased surprise to realize that we were not unexpected. It had not occurred to me that the fathers, brothers, and sweethearts of my fellow workers would be on hand to escort them home. Yet there they were, a double line of them stretching along both sides of the street for more than one long block. As we passed between this double line the men, one by one, would step out and take the arm of the girl or woman for whom he waited. Turning to cross the street I noted unheedingly that a man detached himself from the outer line and was coming in the same direction. “Wait there, Maisie,” he called. He was so near me that, fancying he had made a mistake, I glanced back to see if he really was calling me. “Wanter make five dollars easy money?” he asked, grinning in my face. I stepped up on the sidewalk and faced him. It was on a corner and under the full glare of an electric light. “You go to hell,” I told him. Had he come one step nearer I would have done my best to have sent him to hell. The ferule of a steel-framed umbrella is a dangerous weapon in the hands of an infuriated woman. The next morning on being awakened by the alarm-clock I bounded out of bed only to sink back with a half-smothered wail of pain. The muscles of my feet, my ankles, and my legs up to the small of my back felt like red-hot cords suddenly drawn taut through my raw flesh. Every inch of me below my waist ached horribly. Involuntary tears sprang to my eyes. It took more than ten minutes for me to get a grip on myself. Then carefully and painfully I raised myself to a sitting position and finally stood on my aching feet.