With that idea planted firmly in my mind, I pinned a note on the pin-cushion—the name of the physician I wished called on Monday, and to which hospital I was to be taken. A ten-cent bottle of vaseline being all I possessed in the way of medicine, I put it beside my pillow and between dozes ate it.
Sunday night I began to cough up the phlegm that had made my chest feel so painfully tight. Then I fell asleep, such a good, sound sleep. When I wakened it was Monday forenoon, my head had become normal in size, and all the ache had disappeared. How weak I was! Trying to walk from the bed to the window I almost fainted.
If it had not been for Jack Harland, who also had a room on the top floor, I really don’t know what would have become of me. Miss O’Brien never came near me, neither did Hildegarde Hook. Jack, my tall, long-legged boy, as I used to call him, came twice a day, morning and evening, to ask how I felt and learn what he could get for me in the way of food.
Later, when I was able partially to dress and keep my eyes open, he would come in evenings and read to me—the daily paper and parts of “Les Misérables” and of “Ninety-Three.” Wonderful Victor Hugo! When read by a sympathetic boy’s voice these books become wonderful indeed.
The first time I was able to creep out, on returning, mounting the four flights of stairs to my room, I realized that something was the matter with my heart. Instead of hunting a job next day, as I had planned, I knew that I must wait until I got stronger. Working with a fluttery heart like that I might drop in my tracks at any moment.
I had paid a week’s rent and still had five dollars in my pocketbook, so why worry? Of course I would be fit before the end of the week. When that time came not only was my heart as fluttery as ever, but I realized that I had gained precious little, if any, strength.
A problem faced me—must I give up my plan of living on my wages, go to the bank and get money to tide me over, or what? What would Polly Preston, who had no money in bank, do under the circumstances? How was I to feel as a working woman felt if I kept in the back of my mind the knowledge that I could go to the bank and get money to tide me over a rough place? Again what would Polly Preston do?
On leaving a bench in Washington Square I returned to the rooming-house, and crawling up the stairs, I reached my room and took stock of my scanty wardrobe. It must be either my furs or my cloak. Fortunately, the weather was mild. I had exactly one dollar in my pocketbook, and to-morrow was rent day.
The following day I set out soon after breakfast, wearing both my cloak and furs over my coat suit. Recalling that I had seen one or more pawn-shops on Sixth Avenue in the vicinity of West Fourteenth Street, I went there. In the first I was told brusquely that they did not accept wearing apparel of any sort.
On leaving the second pawn-shop I held twenty dollars in my hand and was without my furs. Twenty dollars was ample provision for three weeks. Long before that time I would be able to get a good job now that work was so plentiful and so well paid.