THE SECOND DAY
On returning home I went to my bed without supper. The whole night through I heard Cram's questions and the answers of the poor applicants, and the whole world appeared to me to be like one huge, bleeding wound. And the question came again and again to my mind: "Was charity, organised charity, the salve to heal this wound?"
I decided during the night not to accept my new job, but on the following morning I reconsidered the matter and went to work. "I will try to have this man Cram discharged," I promised myself. "I will speak to the Manager about the investigator's brutality. He is too busy upstairs. He evidently trusts the man and thinks that every one is treated kindly, humanely." And I explained to myself that the reason Cram was so cruel, though so young, was because of a few impostors who tried or succeeded in filching a few dollars from the charities. What they had to do was to remove him, as he was unfit for his office. It was the place for a woman, a big-hearted, kind old woman, who has seen much of life, who has herself perhaps at some time in her life been on the brink of misery, even compelled to apply herself to charities, and who would therefore understand the eyes full of tears, the quivering lips, the cry of the mother for her unfed children. Yes—a woman, a noble woman, instead of Cram, and everything would be all right, and as I walked towards the office I reviewed mentally all my acquaintances of the other sex, trying to place the one fit for the job. None was good enough, except one who would not accept it, my dear Joanna, with her silvery hair and the kind big, blue eyes. She had told me of her work in the Hull House in Chicago and with other charitable organisations in Boston and elsewhere.
"Friend," she often said, "it's no place for a human being. You see too much misery, too much pretence, too much darkness." And only a few days before when I told her about my future position she had advised me not to take it.
"It will embitter you or it will ruin your soul. A body that has worked in such a place two years should be backed against a wall and shot in mercy, because they are disabled for life to feel humanly."
Still thinking of her words I entered the door of the Institution.
The doorkeeper asked me where I was going. "To the office," I explained, trying to pass, but he was in my way. He insolently put his hands on my shoulders. "Say—you—where are you hurrying? Wait here."
"I want to see Mr. Lawson," said I, trying to pass.
"You can't see no one; go in the other room and write your application."
I shivered at the thought of the basement and almost forgot that I was an employee of the institution, when I saw Cram enter the door.