Twenty tales by twenty women: From real life in ChicagoAnonymous
General
Twenty tales by twenty women: From real life in Chicago
Anonymous
Chicago (Ill.) -- Moral conditions; Prostitution -- Illinois -- Chicago
“The announcement aroused me from my trance-like condition and I raised
my eyes and looked squarely in the face of Edmund’s father. The other
men I did not know. Edmund’s father stared, started and then with a gasp
cried, ‘My God, girl! Child, what are you doing here?’
“‘I am here to make a living,’ I said frankly.
“Without excuse or apology to his friends he drew me to a seat. I almost
fainted at the thought of meeting him and being chosen by him in such a
place; my very soul revolted.”
“But where was Edmund?”
“Ah, there you are. You see when I heard the voice I knew it was that
of his father. I, grasping at a forlorn hope, naturally supposed that
Edmund had come back, gained his father’s consent to marry me, and they
had started out to find me. It was very natural to think they would be
successful for a girl in that position is always expecting the worst to
happen, or rather to be exposed to some one whom they do not wish to see.”
“And Edmund was not in the party at all?”
“No. His father was a man of slightly sporty inclinations, and he with
his party of friends were simply out for a night and happened to come to
the place where I was. But the turn of affairs seemed to change his mind
a bit, for he questioned me so closely as to my whereabouts in the past,
and as to how long I had been in that house, that I became suspicious,
but I told him all, everything truthfully that had happened to me since
I had left his home; but one thing I sought to keep secret and that was
the name of the man with whom I had lived. But it seemed impossible for
one so unused to intrigue to keep a secret. I had a chain (this chain)
around my neck, and on the chain this locket, and as I leaned my head
forward it dangled in the air and unknown to me he took the locket and
opened it and this picture, Edmund’s picture, was in it.
“At first he raved and swore, ‘to think that I, a common woman of the
town, should dare to wear his son’s picture in such a place as that!’ I
don’t know how I held myself together, but I did, and gently reminded
him that he should not object to his son’s picture being worn in a place
which he himself frequented.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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