The moment of cocoa-drinking was always the moment of confidences. It was during this comparatively peaceful time that the suffragette made friends, and it was at this point that ’Tilda one evening approached her.
“Jenny Wigsky’s a funny gel,” said ’Tilda. “She’s bin talkin’ about you, miss. I got a new job the other day, very little money—piece-work—on’y shillin’ a diy if I work ever so ’ard. I ses to Jenny, ‘I’m a good gel I am, to tike less money than I’m worth just to ’elp my muvver.’ But Jenny ses I’m a very bad gel—she ses you ses as it’s wicked to tike bad money.”
“I didn’t say it was wicked—I wouldn’t use the word,” said the suffragette. “But I do think it’s selfish. Every time a girl takes too little money, she may be forcing another girl to take less. You know it’s partly your fault that women’s wages are so bad. You can feel now that you’ve had a share in the work of sweating women, ’Tilda.”
“Didn’t I tell you?” said Miss Wigsky. “Why don’t you do as I do, an’ stick out for ten?”
“But you’re not gettin’ it,” objected ’Tilda.
“I’m goin’ to get it, I am. I’m goin’ back to my ol’ tride—box-miking. I left it becos the work was so ’ard, but the money’s better.”
“I don’t mind how hard people work, as long as they get paid for it,” said the suffragette. “Of course, you have to do good work for good money. What I mean is that I think it’s just as dishonest to take too little money as it is to do too little work.”
“But wot’s the good of one standin’ out?”
“Very little good. But more good in a dozen standing out and more still in a hundred.”
“Le’s start a sassiety,” suggested the strenuous Miss Wigsky. “You could be the Preserdink, miss, an’ I’ll ’elp yer. We’ll call ourselves the ‘Suffragette Gels,’ an’ we won’t allow none of us to tike less money than ten shillin’.”