She walked Mary to the elevator and down to the street level they went. Mary felt very weak of will, yet somehow comforted, as she suffered herself to be marched for several blocks to an obscure little restaurant in a basement. The strange young woman chattered all the way, but Mary had no very clear notion of what she talked about. It was not until they were seated on opposite sides of a table that she began to pay close attention.
"You must always have references," Miss Norcross was saying with an energy that was strangely in contrast with the pale, drawn cheeks and very bright eyes. "You must find a way to get some. People are so silly about them; they think more of references than of what you can really do."
"But how can I ever get them?" asked Mary. "You see, I've never worked; that is, I never worked for anybody except father. And he is dead. I'm really a very good stenographer; I can do over one hundred and twenty-five words a minute. But there isn't anybody who knows I can. And there isn't a business place that will give me a chance to prove it. I've tried; and every time they ask for references."
"My dear, if you can do one hundred and twenty-five you're a better stenographer than I am; lots better. In your case it's only a question of getting started. After that, you'll go like wildfire."
"But it's the references," sighed Mary. "You've got them, you see."
"Simply because I've worked before; that's all." Miss Norcross sipped hastily from a glass of water and shook her head with a little frown of annoyance. "I'm just a bit dizzy; it's my eyes, I think—or perhaps the good luck. The thing for you to do is to get some references; surely there must be somebody who can help you out. Now, when I started——" She shook her head again. "When I started——" Another drink of water. "It's quite easy if—my dear, I'm afraid I'm going to be ill."
She announced the fact with a gasping sigh of resignation. Mary arose from her chair, startled, and walked around the table.
"I've—I've been afraid of it," said the lucky one of the references. "I haven't been very strong. Worrying, I suppose. I worried about a job. It's my head; it aches in such a funny way. Just my luck, I suppose. I—I—oh, please don't leave me!"
"I shouldn't dream of leaving you," said Mary, stoutly. "Let me take you home. Where do you live?"
"It's——" Miss Norcross whispered an address; Mary observed with conscious surprise that it was on the lower East Side. "It's written on a piece of paper—in my bag—in case you forget it—or I faint. You'll find money there—for the check. I'm sorry. I——"