In those days of striving and waiting and studying the swarming life about her Mrs. Doring turned over the economic problem in her mind many times. Curious industrial system, that condemns idleness and yet makes the search for employment bitter and hard!
The two arts which held her chance were hedged about in such a way that the most she could do was to shoot an arrow from afar and trust that it might stick. Nor was she unaware that many other arrows were flying from other archers, each one diminishing the chances of the rest.
CHAPTER XVIII.
BOHEMIA’S HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS.
“Work thou for pleasure; paint or sing or carve
The thing thou lovest, though the body starve.
Who works for glory misses oft the goal;
Who works for money coins his very soul.
Work for the work’s sake, then, and it may be
That these things shall be added unto thee.”
—Kenyon Cox.
One day a miracle happened,—at least Cartice Doring considered it a miracle. She was swinging to a strap in one of the always dirty and frequently crowded cars of the elevated railroad—when, as the train went ricketing round a curve she was flung against a man behind her with such force that both well-nigh fell to the floor.
Before she could apologize, a familiar voice said:
“Mrs. Doring! I’m delighted to have been knocked down, since it proves to be the means of meeting you.”
He was a newspaper man whose occasional visits to the Register she had greatly enjoyed; and his was the first familiar face that she had encountered since she had turned her back on former scenes.
“Why, Mr. Farnsworth, I’m glad enough to cry,” she blurted out, and came near proving the truth of her assertion.
When he learned that she had come to New York to seek her fortune, he said: