“Wonderful!” she exclaimed, on hearing my explanation. “If we can only stick it out through the Christmas rush you’ll get material for no end of stories. I’ve always wanted to see just what the Christmas rush is like in a popular New York store.” Alice was about twenty-three and small. Like many small women, she was continually standing on her dignity. And like many men and more women, the first of their family to attain a college degree, she was perpetually bringing the fact of having that degree before her associates. She was the best example I have ever seen of beauty without symmetry. Her dark hair was stringy, her face was long, her upper lip short, showing a glint of teeth, her brows were straight and dark, her lashes short and dark, her nose long and her dark complexion blotchy. She had but one really fine feature—eyes, blue-gray in color and eloquently expressive. Because of her eyes she must always be a noticeably attractive woman. On leaving her I walked across town to the Central Branch of the Y. W. C. A., and after getting a satisfying breakfast for fifteen cents I asked the price of rooms. The cheapest rate was sixty-five cents the night with two in a room. Clutching my pocketbook I hurried out—the purchasing power of five dollars might not be so great as it had appeared. A subway train set me down at the entrance of a large department store whose advertisement for salesladies in that morning’s paper had attracted my attention. The advertisement read “experience unnecessary” and I knew the head of the firm to be one of the most widely known philanthropists in the country. In the employment department of this great store I stared at the voluminous application-blank given me to fill out. My age, color, nationality, my mother’s maiden name, my father’s profession. Were my parents living or dead. My own personal history for the past ten years. The names and addresses of two property-owners who would vouch for me. “Ah!” I congratulated myself, on reading this last item. “The superintendent has his eye on you for a good position at a fat salary.” On returning the paper with all the questions truthfully answered the girl at the window informed me that they would drop me a card in a day or so telling me when to come to work. A glow of satisfied pride swept over me. Who said an unskilled woman had a hard time earning an honest living in New York? Alice hadn’t found it difficult to get a job at a living wage. I was sure of one. However, no use loafing. It was past ten o’clock when I applied at a mail-order house advertising for addressers. “Any experience?” was the only question asked by the kindly little manager.