Every Sunday, indeed almost
every day, she found in the newspapers articles on the subject
of work for women.
"Why do you waste time on that stuff?" said Drumley, when he
discovered her taste for it.
"Oh, a woman never can tell what may happen," replied she.
"She'll never learn anything from those fool articles,"
answered he. "You ought to hear the people who get them up
laughing about them. I see now why they are printed. It's good
for circulation, catches the women--even women like you."
However, she persisted in reading. But never did she find an
article that contained a really practical suggestion--that is,
one applying to the case of a woman who had to live on what
she made at the start, who was without experience and without
a family to help her. All around her had been women who were
making their way; but few indeed of them--even of those
regarded as successful--were getting along without outside aid
of some kind. So when she read or thought or inquired about
work for women, she was sometimes amused and oftener made
unhappy by the truth as to the conditions, that when a common
worker rises it is almost always by the helping hand of a man,
and rarely indeed a generous hand--a painful and shameful
truth which a society resolved at any cost to think well of
itself fiercely conceals from itself and hypocritically lies about.
She felt now that there was hope in only one direction--hope
of occupation that would enable her to live in physical, moral
and mental decency.
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