"You'll find it better to take a bite of lunch, even if you don't hanker for it," she observed.
"How do you know I haven't?" Jean asked.
"That's easy. For one reason, I seen you walkin' in Washington Square. For another, a green hand here don't never want lunch. Not used to this kind of thing, are you?"
"To the work, yes; not the noise, the bad air."
"Where'd you work last?"
"In a small town," she eluded.
"That's different. You don't have the sweat-shop in the country, I guess."
"Sweat-shop!" Jean had heard that sinister term before. "Is that what they call Meyer & Schwarzschild's?"
The girl laughed at her simplicity.
"I call it one," she rejoined, "even if it is on Broadway. Don't low wages and dirt and bad air and disease make a sweat-shop?"