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Words: 101792 in 40 pages
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FOUR YEARS IN THE UNDERBRUSH
FOUR YEARS IN THE UNDERBRUSH
The evening of November 8, 1916, I walked out of the National Arts Club and into the underbrush of the greatest jungle of civilization--I entered the world of the unskilled working woman of New York City. Though a sudden move, such an adventure had been in my mind for weeks. When thinking over the plot of my fifth novel my conscience had demanded:
"Why don't you go out and get first-hand experience for Polly Preston? She is a child of your own brain. You know her temperamentally as well as mentally and physically. You should be able to judge how she would react under given conditions. Come, be a sport! Get out and see what Polly will really be up against."
When the opportunity presented itself on the above-mentioned date my reason for accepting it was for the single purpose of getting material for my novel--not because of any special interest in working people, either men or women, as a class. Indeed, it had always been my faith that they who scrub floors or dig ditches are only fit to scrub floors or dig ditches--humanity, like water, finds its own level.
The clock over the main entrance of the Grand Central Station was on the stroke of twelve when I passed under it on my way to the woman's waiting-room. Glancing around to select the most desirable of the unoccupied chairs, my attention was caught--a woman with a strong Slavic accent was giving a group of immigrant girls a lesson in--not English--American.
"'Ello!" the woman exclaimed, and smiling broadly she extended her hand.
"'Ello!" each girl responded in her turn, and she stolidly allowed her hand to be pumped up and down by the woman.
"Sure," cried the woman, nodding her head vigorously.
"Zuer," the girls repeated, and they also nodded vigorously.
"No, no," was emphasized by a shake of the head.
"Nun, nun," the girls grunted, but they shook their heads so violently that there could be no doubt of their understanding.
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