"Why, yes," I says. "Don't you think I can get one?"
"Sure you can get one," he says, "if I say the word."
I wondered how he done what he done. It wasn't five minutes that I waited in the stuffy dirty room by the gate into the factory yard, before a man come and told me to go up to the next floor.
When I crossed the yard the little young man come out of a door and he says to me:
"Good-by, and good luck to you." And he adds low, "I'll be waiting for you at six o'clock at the door we came in."
"Oh," I says, "don't you do that, Mr. Carney! Mr. Ember wouldn't want me to trouble the other Mr. Carney or you either, not that much."
He scowled. "This isn't exactly on his account, you know."
And when he went off he didn't take off his hat to me, like Mr. Ember had done, and like I thought city men always done.
I kept thinking all that over while they started me in to work, punching holes in a card. I thought about it so hard that when night came I asked the forewoman if I could walk to the car with her. I thought I could take the street-car, now I had a job. She was a big red woman. "That don't work with me, you'll find," she says, and went past me. I guess she didn't understand what I said. So I went out with some of the other girls, and it just happened that I got out another door than the one I went in, and on to the street-car.
I bought a can of peas and four rolls and five cents butter, to celebrate.