“Perfectly,” said Mr. Sharp, bowing.
“Then, Antoine, you will show this gentleman to the door.”
Mr. Sharp bowed graciously, and withdrew. A moment more, and Lewis was left alone,—a prey to the keenest disappointment. Troubled as he was by the loss of one half his possessions, there were two things that troubled him even more. He had been out-generalled by one of his own tools, whom he had looked upon with contempt, and his cousin, whom he detested more than ever, was now as wealthy as himself.
Lewis Rand paced the library with disordered steps, till far into the night, and, when he retired to his chamber, it was not to sleep.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
THE SLAVE OF THE NEEDLE.
Perhaps no employment is more confining and more poorly compensated than that of sewing. The narrow choice allowed to women, who are compelled to labor for their livelihood, leads to an unhealthy and disastrous competition in this department of toil, and enables employers to establish a disgracefully low scale of prices.[[1]] Fifteen hours out of the twenty-four are sometimes spent in unremitting labor, the results of which will scarcely keep soul and body together. The cook or house-maid enjoys a degree of comfort, and commands an income (including board) absolutely unattainable by the slave of the needle.
[1]. The reader is referred to an interesting series of papers, entitled “Needle and Garden,” published in the “Atlantic Monthly” during the year 1865.
Hard work and an absence of nourishing food were beginning to tell on the delicate frame of Martha Grey. An expert needle-woman, she commanded, in good times, an abundant supply of work. But times had changed. The shops gave out less work, while the number who desired it seemed rather to have increased than diminished. The natural result followed,—a reduction in the compensation, already disgracefully low. Many could not obtain a chance to work at any price. Martha was allowed her usual supply, but at prices twenty per cent. lower than she had before received. The heart of the poor seamstress sank within her, as she walked home with a bundle of work, for which she was to be paid at the new rate. How was she to economize? It seemed before as if her wants were reduced to the minimum, and yet she had been able to lay by nothing. In addition to this, her health, never very firm, had shown some indications of failure. She was troubled with occasional dizziness and frequent nervous headaches, which rendered her enforced slavery to the needle a torture, but one from which she could not deliver herself.
But one alternative presented itself. She must contract her necessary expenditures, or increase her hours of work. She did not know how to compass the one, while the other would probably lead to sickness. She attempted a middle course. On a scantier diet she strove to work an hour more daily. The result was what might have been anticipated. Nature succumbed. One morning Helen, on returning from rehearsal, entered Martha’s room unceremoniously, as was her wont. Great was her dismay on discovering her friend lying insensible on the floor. Her work, on which she had been engaged up to the moment of her attack, had fallen from her hands, and lay beside her.
Helen was not unused to such cases. Though quite terrified, she had sufficient self-possession to apply the proper restoratives.