New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction; Prostitutes -- Fiction
Mr. Porter tapped his desk and kept his eyes on his fingers.
"I find," he said slowly, "that most men do not make approaches
without some encouragement, in either word or manner, on the part of
the girl. I also find that such occurrences as this are very rare in
the experience of most of the girls in our employ."
He stopped, but Katie stood silent by the arm of the desk, her lips
compressed, a frown between her arched black brows. He sent a
crooked glance up at her, and then resumed:
"I scarcely ever have a case of this sort to deal with. I wonder
why, if such things are done by customers, the other girls do not
report them."
He stopped again, and this time Katie answered:
"I suppose they boss their own lives in their own way, Mr. Porter."
A faint spark of color shone in Mr. Porter's white cheek.
"I suppose they do," he answered, gently pulling at his
side-whiskers, and peeping at his victim over the caressing hand.
"In fact, between you and me, Miss Flanagan, I am told that some of
them do that so well that they are practically independent of their
wages in this store."
Again Katie failed to respond.
"Do you understand me, Miss Flanagan?"
Katie thought of her desperate days before she had found her present
employment. She thought of Hermann and what seemed to be the sole
chance of rising to a salary where marriage could be a practical
possibility. She thought of Carrie's plight and of Carrie's
dependence upon her.
"I do that, Mr. Porter," she answered.
He looked up squarely then, and she even managed to torture her face
into an expression of roguery.
"Ah," said Mr. Porter, smiling a paternal smile. He reached out and
patted her hand, and, though her soul revolted, she managed to keep
her hand passive. "Now, my dear young lady, you are at last coming
to your senses. You mustn't take life so seriously."
"I'll try not to, Mr. Porter."
"That's right; that's right. I ought to discharge you, I know. It
may be difficult not to discharge you. But I will do this much: I
will suspend judgment for a few days."
He looked at her fixedly. Her cold lips formed another phrase of
thanks.
"And in the meantime," he continued, "you let me know of some evening
when you can come out to a quiet corner where we can have supper
together, and where we won't be wasting the firm's time. Then we'll
talk this whole thing over, and I'll see what I can do."
The eyes of neither wavered.
"Thank you, Mr. Porter," said Katie again.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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