Yours truly,
W. C. Howard.”
On the Subway on my way down town again I gave this letter its first reading. It not only greatly surprised me, but it greatly puzzled me. On rereading it an exclamation burst from my lips.
Any one reading her letter would imagine that I had complained of the character of the work assigned me—dormitory work and dish-washing. Also, that out of work I had appealed to her for help. If she received appeals for help “almost every day,” why was it necessary for her to advertise in the help-wanted columns? During that winter and spring Alice and I had noticed her advertisement fully one dozen times.
Some day I shall frame this letter of Mrs. Howard’s together with her advertisement and the two typewritten pages of legal foolscap, the schedule of work.
CHAPTER X
TRUSTED WITH BILLIONS, PAID IN MILLS
When discussing with my Y. W. C. A. friend my experiences at the Rodman Hall, she said:
“Why don’t you give our employment department a trial? I believe you’d have a wider choice. Besides, you might help the Association a lot—reporting conditions at the places where you work.”
Semiphilanthropy again! was my mental exclamation. The department store and Sea Foam were the property of philanthropists. The overdressed woman and her “placement bureau” was a semiphilanthropic annex. St. Rose and Rodman Hall! Now the Y. W. C. A. employment department. Semiphilanthropies!
With a sigh so sincere that it seemed hypocrisy to suppress it, I promised to be on time the following morning, go up to the seventh floor and register. I took my leave and walked dejectedly back to the rooming-house. There was no hope in me; my enthusiasm had passed away as a thing that had never been. I was to have my faith in human nature tried by another semiphilanthropy.