That same Saturday morning the boss said he wanted to see me after closing time. There seemed numerous others he wanted to see. Then I discovered, while waiting my turn with these others, that practically no one there knew her “price.” There was a good deal of resentment about it, too. He had hired these girls and no word about pay. The other girls waiting that morning were beaders. I learned one trick of the trade which it appears is more or less universal. They had left their former jobs to come to this factory in answer to an “ad” for crochet beaders. If after one week it was found they were getting less than they had at the old place, they would go back and say they had been sick for a week. Otherwise they planned to stay on at this factory. Each girl was called in alone, and alone bargained with the boss. Monday, Sadie, just for instance, ahead of me in the Saturday line, reported the conversation she had had with the boss:
“Well, miss, what you expect to get here?”
“What I'm worth.”
“Yes, yes—you're worth one hundred dollars, but I'm talking just plain English. What you expect to get?”
“I tell you what I'm worth.”
“All right, you're worth one hundred dollars; you think you'll get thirty dollars. I'll pay you twenty dollars.”
(Sadie had previously told me under no consideration would she remain under twenty-five dollars, but she remained for twenty dollars.)
My turn. I thought there was no question about my “price.” It was fourteen dollars. But perhaps seeing how I had run my legs almost off, and pinned my fingers almost off all week, the boss was going voluntarily to raise me.
“What wages you expect to get here?”
Oh, well, since he thus opened the question we would begin all new. I had worked so much harder than I had anticipated.