“The judge is all right, of course, but when it comes to a case against one of our large hotels there’s never any telling which way the cat will jump. I strongly advise you to go back to the hotel and see the manager. Maybe they will have found your contract and will be willing to pay you at the rate of sixteen a month.” Then he added, as he handed me his card: “I wouldn’t be surprised you’d find them with the money all counted out ready for you.” “Neither would I,” I answered, keeping tight hold on the muscles of my face to prevent myself from returning his smile. And it proved even as he said. Not only was the money ready for me but the paymaster’s manner had undergone a complete change. Telling me that the manager wished to speak to me, he held open the office-door and politely ushered me in. The manager of the Sea Foam is, or was at that time, a square-built man with red hair. As we stared at each other across the broad top of his mahogany office-table our eyes were on a level. It was quite evident that he expected to stare me out of countenance. He made a mistake. His eyes were the first to give way. “Won’t you sit down?” he said, motioning to a chair. “Thank you. I have neither the time nor the inclination,” I told him. “What is it you wish to say to me?” “To ask you why you went to the clerk of court.” “To prove to the Sea Foam waitresses that they can force the hotel to live up to its contracts.” Then I told him of the way little Beulah had been treated. He listened as though hearing of such an incident for the first time. Judging by what I had heard, it had been the policy of the hotel toward waitresses for years. At lunch, my last meal at the Belgrave, when describing my experience I distributed copies of the clerk of court’s business cards. “It won’t do any good until we are organized,” one of the older girls said. “If a few of us kick or insist on being paid sixteen instead of thirteen we’ll be discharged and blacklisted. If we organize we can force up wages——” “And cut out tips,” a younger girl interrupted. “It’s a darn shame for the hotels to put up their rates and expect guests to pay extra for service. It’s a darn shame.” While this was going on the girls at the other end of the table had been whispering together. Now the girl at the head of the table held up her hand, signalling for silence. Then, after a glance at the adjoining table to make sure the assistant housekeeper was not listening, she informed me that she had been delegated to ask me to remain and organize the waitresses, beginning with those working in the larger hotels. The request was so unexpected that for a moment I was dumb. On recovering myself I reminded them that our country was at war. So long as the war lasted we at home must keep our shoulder to the wheel. If the wheel cut into our flesh we must endure it for the sake of pushing the load to safety. “And after the war?” the spokesman asked.