My goodness, everything was going to be all right. She was sure Mr. Fredericksohn would be happy with her work.
Though the important thing wasn't her own success, but the people themselves. If you could help them to be bright, and happy, and successful, then that was the best job in the world.
And she could.
My goodness, yes.
Mrs. Wladek looked at the door for a long time without opening it. She didn't want to go in—certainly not. But there was her appointment, and money was needed; she had no choice. The cossacks of America had forced her to this pass, and she was an old woman; what could she do? Fight them?
One had to give in.
She reached for the doorknob and turned it and opened the door.
There were all the desks, and the men and women working. And near the far corner, on the left, the girl sat studying a sheet of paper. Mrs. Wladek looked at the blond hair and the pretty face and the slight figure, and shivered.
But she had no choice; she went across the room and when she had almost reached the desk the girl said: "Good morning, Mrs. Wladek."