“What do you want?”
“A job.”
“What kind of a job?”
“Anything but bein' chambermaid.”
“What experience have you had in hotel work?”
“None, but lots in private homes. I'd like a job around the kitchen some place.”
“Ever try pantry work?”
“Not in a hotel, but lots in private families. I can do that swell!” (What pantry work meant I hadn't the least idea—thought perhaps washing glasses and silverware.)
He put on his coat and hat and dashed upstairs. He always put on his coat and hat to go upstairs. In a few moments he dashed hurriedly back, followed by another man whose teeth were all worn down in the front. I learned later that he was an important steward.
He asked me all over again all the questions the first man had asked, and many more. He was in despair and impatient when he found I had not a single letter of recommendation from a single private family I had worked for. I could have written myself an excellent one in a few moments. Could I bring a letter back later in the day?